Between Stars
by Faith-Kiamn
Summary: Sometimes we just need a little distance to see the things that matter. Lizzie gets distance. Lots of it. Like a universe-away, distance. [LG] ::COMPLETE::
1. Opisthaptors and Workshops

**Title: **Between Stars  
**Author: **Faith Kiamn**  
Rating: **PG-13 (for the safe side of a tiny bit of language)**  
Category: **L/G**  
Spoilers: **a little of everything; the movie, but no rooftop scene; I started this before it came out**  
Disclaimer: **don't own, no 'fringe intended**  
Distribution: **sure, just keep my name attached and drop me a line so I can visit**  
Feedback: **please; review or email, I'd be delighted

**Summary: **Sometimes we just need a little distance to see the things that matter. Lizzie gets distance. Lots of it. Like a universe-away, distance.

**Author's Notes: **I've been wanting to write fanfic since I first discovered its X-Files incarnation years ago. This is my first truly successful attempt, and to be honest, I'm not quite sure how I ended up writing LM fanfic, of all things. I rather suspect my little sister had a lot to do with it, though. This is dedicated to her and to my other younger sister whose knowledge of so many interesting things scientific was a lot of the inspiration for this story's Lizzie.

Just a warning: this thing is gonna be _long_. And a little odd. (What can I say, I'm an aspiring fantasy novelist.) Over half of it is written already, and I'm gonna try and get it posted as quickly as possible...but no promises. I've only just convinced myself to try the post-as-you-go deal. We'll see how it works out.

Anyway. These notes are huge. Go. Read. I hope you enjoy.

**Chapter 1: Opisthaptors and Workshops**

"Have I ever mentioned how much I absolutely _hate_ Mr. Dawson?" Lizzie McGuire asked, dropping a chin-high stack of books to the lunch table. Clenching her fists to bring the circulation back to her fingers, she looked up to see David Gordon and Am Smith sitting opposite her. Gordo smiled at her comment, but Am's pale blue eyes only narrowed in a glare.

"Thanks, McGuire. I _was_ gonna eat that." Confused, Lizzie frowned, following the glaring eyes as they darted down to a jiggling pile of green jello. "Of all the things on this tray, that _was_ the only edible part," Am announced and, sure enough, the other spaces on the plate were filled with some indistinguishable brown squares and a gravity-defying tower of white lumps. "Now, of course, with all your bumping and thumping, it looks too much like Swamp Thing to stomach." Pale hands shoved the tray away. "Once again, no lunch for me," she lamented, heaving a long, dramatic sigh.

Lizzie didn't even try to hide her smile. "Sorry, Am. You can have half my lunch, if you want."

"Oh, no, no, no." Am shook her head, hands rising in protest. "I couldn't eat your lunch, Mig. You need your strength. I wouldn't want you to faint in the hallways, drop those books on your head, and end up in the hospital with a concussion and two black eyes, all because I ate half your lunch."

Lizzie met Am's wide, earnest eyes and raised them a shivering bottom lip. "Oh, Am," she sighed, one hand spread against her chest, "what would I do without a friend like you?"

"Probably spend a lot less time complaining about the cafeteria food," came Gordo's answer. Both Lizzie and Am turned to see a dry smirk curling his mouth. "And yes, Lizzie, you _have _mentioned how much you hate Mr. Dawson."

"Several times," chimed Am.

"Not that I can blame you," Gordo admitted. "What's the library for?" He ducked his chin at her books.

Lizzie groaned. "I'm going to debunk the theory of evolution," she sighed, sitting down.

Gordo's eyebrows rose. "Ambitious."

"Yeah." Lizzie unrolled the top of her lunch bag. "And, you know, I don't really even care about the theory of evolution. It's just," her lips thinned, the words snapping crisp between them, "Dawson's so...arrogant...and, and cocky...and he never lets anyone have an opinion different from his own. Like just because he's the teacher he automatically knows everything when, really, he can't even pronounce opisthaptor."

She pulled a sandwich from the bag, plopped it on the table, reached in again, pulled out another sandwich, plopped it in front of Am. "And today, argh, he kept going on and on about how wonderful the theory of evolution is and so, of course, when he told us to pick our paper topics, I decided, enough. Lizzie McGuire has her own mind and that mind is going to debunk the theory of evolution if it kills her." She snapped the sandwich bag open, tore off a corner of peanut butter and jelly and popped it in her mouth, muttering, "He can shove _that_ up his opisthaptor."

Silence. Lizzie looked up from her sandwich to find both Gordo and Am staring at her. What? She hadn't been shouting, had she? No, she was sure she hadn't been shouting. "What?" she asked.

Gordo and Am exchanged a glance across the table.

"You should talk to Larry," Am said finally, nodding sagely as she opened her own sandwich.

"Tudgeman? Why?"

"Oh, just 'cuz he's always saying he knows this fellow, uh, Cleatus. I bet Larry can arrange a hit for you." Lizzie's forehead folded. "And failing that, there's always the ICBMs."

"What?" Am was fun, and funny, but sometimes...

"Intercontinental Ballistic Missiles," Am explained nonchalantly.

Lizzie opened her mouth to demand an even more confused _what?_ when Gordo stepped in. "I think what Ms Smith's trying to say, Lizzie, is that, well, if you really hate Mr. Dawson so much, perhaps you should, er, assassinate him." A smile lurked on the corner of his mouth.

Am shrugged and nodded. "Sure beats debunking the theory of evolution." She gestured at the pile of books at Lizzie's elbow. "Just one quick phone call and Larry can have it all taken care of for ya."

Lizzie sat there a long moment, eyes flicking back and forth between her two friends. Gordo was fully smiling now and a little grin had crept onto Am's face. Finally, Lizzie rolled her eyes and shook her head.

"Where's Miranda when I need her?" she moaned. "Stuck here at lunch with two people who can't tell fantasy from reality."

"Hey!" Gordo objected.

"Eh, get over it, Davy," Am chuckled, butting her shoulder into his. "That's what makes us so good at what we do."

"That's what comes of hanging out with Tudgeman too much, you mean," Lizzie said.

"Hey, now." Am shook a finger at Lizzie. "There's no need for that, Mig. He may be a little odd, and prone to flights of fantasy, but Larry Tudgeman is very nearly a creative genius. Davy and I do well to let as much of that rub off on us as possible." She sniffed and tipped her nose into the air. "Which you will someday be forced to admit when Larry has cured cancer and created true virtual reality...and when Davy and I are famous Hollywood directors."

Lizzie wrinkled her nose. "Well, I concede you two's creative genius anyway." Her own nose tipped into the air. "But I believe _I'm _going to be the one curing cancer, thank you very much."

Gordo snorted. "Oh, where's Miranda when I need her?" he mocked in a high-pitched voice. "Stuck here at lunch with my delusional best friend."

"Hey!" Lizzie cried, "no fair copying." Her foot found his shin beneath the table.

Gordo winced, then turned to Am. "That's what I've been telling her about my homework for years," he said, affecting a mournful, pitying expression. Am burst into laughter, Gordo joining in, leaving Lizzie to send another kick at his shin.

"You-you...directors!" she sputtered, crossing indignant arms over her chest. Slowly, though, she couldn't help grinning herself.

"Speaking of directors," Gordo said at last, after the laughter had stopped and all three had returned to their lunches. "Look what I have." Wiping chip-greased fingers on Lizzie's napkin, he bent down to rummage through his backpack. When he straightened, a sheet of paper was in his hand. Lizzie leaned forward to get a better look, barely making out the words UCLA and Media before Am was yanking the paper from Gordo's grip.

"Oh my gosh, is this what I think it is?" she squeaked.

Gordo's grin looked wide enough to split his face. "Yep. I got in."

"That's awesome!" Am cried, even as Lizzie asked, "Got in? In what? Where?"

Am was the one to answer. "Davy here applied for a directing and film workshop that UCLA runs every summer. It's for students aged 14-24 and it's basically a bunch of seminars and hands-on experience for anyone who wants to go into the film industry. It's really, really competitive and Davy got in!" Her voice rose to a squeak again as she shook the paper. "I'm so excited for you, Davy! Wish I could have gone this year."

"Wow." Lizzie tried for a smile. "That's really great, Gordo." It was just too bad she hadn't known anything about this beforehand. Weren't they supposed to be best friends? She wondered if Miranda knew.

Gordo's grin had transformed into a pleased, shy curve of the lips at her words. "Thanks," he shrugged. "I'm kinda surprised I got in, really."

Am swatted him on the head with the paper. "I'm not."

Lizzie licked suddenly dry lips. "Me neither. You're truly talented, Gordo."

"But of course," Am chuckled, handing the paper across to Lizzie. "Wanna see?" Lizzie folded chilled fingers around an edge. Nice paper, thick, smooth with just a little texture. The program logo was printed along the top in light blue and she skimmed down to the text. _Dear Mr. Gordon_..._Congratulations on being accepted_..._your session will begin July 15th_... Am was talking again. "I would never have agreed to partner up with anyone _untalented_."

"Ah, yes," Gordo replied, "can't forget about good ole Gordon-Smith Productions. I know you're just using me for my brilliance. Then you'll buy me out when I'm sucked dry and it'll just be Smith Productions."

Am pursed her lips. "I doubt it." She shook her head. "After all, Smith is such an uninspiring name for a company." She cast a teasing grin in Gordo's direction.

"You could always call it Amaryllis Productions," Gordo teased back.

"Ick. Amaryllis. That always makes me think of some sort of exotic alcoholic drink. I don't know why my parents thought saddling me with a weird first name would make up for my singularly unspectacular last name."

"Maybe we just ought to come up with some symbolic name for our company. Something obscure. Something with deep meaning."

Am laughed. "Yeah. Inflamed Hippo or Sublime Fraction o-or maybe something in Latin."

Gordo was laughing too and Lizzie rubbed the letter between her fingers, trying to make it look like she was still reading. Am and Gordo had been teasing about starting a production company for three years now, from almost the first moment that Lizzie had introduced Am to her best friends the second semester of freshman year. Lizzie had always enjoyed listening to them plan everything out, but now... Well, it didn't even feel like either of them knew she was sitting there. And what was up with Am knowing about this UCLA thing and not Lizzie?

"What was it again, Lizzie?"

Gordo was asking her something. She shook free of her thoughts and looked up. "What?"

"What's that thing that Mr. Dawson can't pronounce? I was thinking maybe we could name our production company after that."

"Uh, opisthaptor." She managed a half-smile. "But I don't think you want to name it that. An opisthaptor is the posterior holdfast of a monogenetic trematode parasite." At the blankness in their eyes, she shrugged. "Sorry. Sometimes once I've memorized these things, I can't shake 'em loose. It's, uh, basically the sucker thingy on a parasite's rear end."

Both Gordo and Am drew back with identical looks of disgust on their faces. "Nope," Am said after a beat of silence. "Don't want to name it that." Gordo shook his head in agreement.

"Ah, well," he said, "it doesn't matter, does it? I mean it'll be years before we know the film world enough to start a production company. Maybe we'll have an idea by then."

Am nodded. "True. There's this summer, next year, college—College! So since you're doing this program, are you maybe thinking of going to UCLA when you graduate?"

Gordo shrugged. "I don't know. I mean, yeah, it's a great film school, but I don't have to apply for colleges until next year. I've still got plenty of time to check out a few other options. You know, New York University, Columbia University, USC. I like the idea of going to college on the East Coast, just for the experience, but I guess we'll see."

"Yeah, I have to say I feel kind of the same way. Having lived here in Hillridge all my life, New York would certainly be a change." Am winked. "Maybe we'll end up going together. Get a head start on that company."

Lizzie found herself on her feet before she even realized she wanted to stand up. Gordo and Am both looked at her, puzzled.

"I, uh, I should probably go put these, um, books away before my next class," she stammered. "I'm just gonna go."

"What about your lunch?" Am pointed to the bits of sandwich and the still half-full paper bag sitting in front of Lizzie.

"I'm not as hungry as I thought I'd be." Lizzie nudged the bag in the other girl's direction. "You can have it if you want."

"Um, thanks." Am reached out a finger, snagged the top of the bag, and dragged it slowly to the spot beside her sandwich crumbs.

"Oh, and here's your letter, Gordo." She handed the paper over and began gathering the mountain of books into her arms again.

"Thanks." There was a frown wrinkling his voice, but Lizzie was too busy stacking the books against her elbow to look up. Just as she murmured a farewell and turned to go, Gordo called, "Hey, Lizzie?"

Lizzie just looked over her shoulder, hummed.

"Are you okay?"

She looked away, pretended to shake a strand of hair out of her eyes, and when she glanced back, plastered a smile to her face. "Yeah, sure. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Okay." Gordo nodded a little. "No reason. Just asking."

"Oh." Lizzie dipped her head, smiled again, then turned to go. The clock above the exit said she had twenty minutes until the end of the period. _Twenty minutes_ to take her books to her locker.

Yeah. Sure. She was fine.

*********#######*********

In the end, Lizzie decided to stop by her locker, get the books for her next two classes, and head to the library to finish up the last few math problems from the night before. But the trip took just over seven minutes and the math consumed approximately half that, which left her ten whole minutes to sit and stare at the walls. And think. Which, really, Lizzie wasn't altogether happy about.

Her mind kept spiraling around this UCLA workshop thing. Why hadn't Gordo told her about it? Not that he had to tell her everything, but this was _big_. Almost as long as she'd known him, Gordo had wanted to be a director. Here he was, mapping out his future and she didn't know a thing about it.

Well, maybe he'd just wanted to keep it to himself until he found out for sure.

But then why had Am known about it? Maybe she'd found out accidentally?

But Lizzie couldn't help wondering if maybe he'd told Am because he and Am were closer than he and Lizzie. After all, Am and Gordo had dated sophomore year, for just a few weeks. They'd split amicably, telling everyone they were better off as friends, and Lizzie, who knew both pretty well, had been convinced. But maybe she'd been wrong. Maybe they decided they really did like each other as more than that. Maybe they were dating again.

And who could blame them, really? Am was gorgeous, dark brown hair to her waist, slim with a petite dancer's build, a great smile, and those fantastic eyes—so pale they were almost white near the pupil, a dark China blue at the outside. She was funny—goofy, strange funny—and witty and smart and so nice. Gordo obviously enjoyed hanging out with her, and they both shared a love of film, not to mention a certain disregard for what everyone else thought of them. As for Gordo's qualities...well, what could Lizzie say? He was great, in every way. He wouldn't be her best friend, otherwise. And he was cute, not much taller than Lizzie but he'd settled into his wiry frame, built muscle to match it.

Lizzie shook her head, eyes dropping to trace the gold-edged "Trigonometry" at the top of her text book. What did it matter if Am and Gordo were dating? She just wished they'd told her. And if they weren't dating, well, how come Am knew about the summer program?

Maybe Gordo just shared it with her because they both wanted to be directors. Maybe he'd told her because they just talked about stuff like that, in a way that Lizzie didn't. Like how they were always planning Gordon-Smith Productions. Like how right now they might even be planning on going to the same college.

_Geez_, she thought with more venom than she expected, _they might as _well_ be dating._

Whoa, McGuire. She blew a breath through pursed lips, trying to turn away from the anger that rose abruptly. But it didn't fade away entirely, merely shifted to a kind of stomach-twisting panic. College. They'd all be applying for colleges next year. It wasn't a new thought, but most of the time she was able to ignore it in the face of papers or assignments or extracurricular stuff. Every once in a while, though, the idea would rise to the forefront of her mind. Usually, it made her a little nervous—she could just picture her friends going off to other schools, making new friends, coming back to Hillridge different—but now it made her physically ill.

Colleges next year. She swallowed at the hot, slick trembling in her chest. She didn't even know where to begin. Didn't she have to know what she wanted to do before looking at colleges? And Lizzie had no idea. She loved acting and singing—she'd been in at least one play every year in high school—but she also loved science, especially anatomy and biology. So should she go pre-med or should she go drama? Pre-med? Drama? Drama? Pre-med?

And Gordo and Am knew exactly what they wanted. They even seemed to know exactly where they wanted. New York. On the other side of the _country_ from Hillridge.

Okay. So now she felt a little like throwing up.

"Trigonometry, trigonometry, trigonometry," she mouthed, over and over again until most of the flipping in her stomach had stopped. Enough of all that. She had all summer and half of next year's first semester to figure the college thing out. No need to panic about it now. Her eyes found the clock on the wall. At last, the period was almost over. Then she could head to her next class, gym. Not that she was altogether looking forward to tripping over the soccer ball as she did nearly every day, but Miranda would be there.

Miranda. Her stomach eased the rest of the way. She could talk to Miranda about everything. Miranda would make her feel better.

****  
**end of chapter 1**

**chapter notes:  
**Thanks to JS, who will never see this, but provided delightful inspiration for Am Smith. Thanks also to plainjane, whose Lizzie in her story, What Would Have Happened? made me want to write this. (which may very well be a bad thing…but it's a little late now ;) )  
The UCLA Media Workshop _did _exist...and may again; info here: w w w (dot) mediaworkshops (dot) org


	2. Favorite Dame

_This took me a bit longer to get posted than I'd intended. Sorry! But thank you to those who took the time to review this li'l story. **linz**, I'm honored you like my writing style! **I3itterSweet**, this is most certainly an L/G and thanks for the encouragement! **Joe Normal**, as someone who also doesn't typically review even the stories I really like, I thank you so much for taking the time to respond; I have every intention of continuing this little ditty. _

_Thanks and I hope you all enjoy this next chapter._

**Chapter 2: Favorite Dame**

"So, w-wait a minute," Miranda Sanchez said from inside her gym shirt.  Her head popped out and she reached a hand to straighten her ruffled bangs.  "Gordo's going to this UCLA film workshop thing this July?"  Lizzie, who had made it to the locker room and changed into her gym suit before the late bell even rang, nodded from her seat in front of her closed locker.  "That's amazing, chica!"

Lizzie's mouth dropped open.  Amazing, yeah, but what about the whole Gordo not telling them thing?  "Did he tell you he was applying?" she demanded.  Miranda looked up from neatly rolling her blouse.

"No.  But so what?  It's not like he has to tell me everything."  She went back to rolling, then froze halfway to lifting the garment to the shelf high inside the locker, her dark eyes narrowed.  "Oh.  This is like Brooke Baker all over again."

Huh?

"Huh?"

"You're upset he didn't tell you," Miranda pronounced with a knowing nod.

"As I recall, in seventh grade we were _both _upset that Gordo hadn't told us he was dating Brooke Baker.  And I don't really think you can compare this situation, anyway.  After all, Gordo hasn't been kissing the UCLA workshop."

Miranda smirked, tugging out of her jeans.  "I _knew_ you were jealous in seventh grade!"

"What?  Where do you get that from?  That wasn't what I meant at all!"  Never mind that she was probably right.  "Okay, so, yeah, I was jealous in seventh grade, but that's not what I'm talking about here."

Miranda raised her eyebrow in that trademark way, the way that said _Right, you just keep telling yourself that, chica_.  Lizzie ignored it and pressed on, "I just mean that, well, Gordo—a-and Am—they are both planning their futures.  This workshop, colleges in New York—"

"Wait a minute," Miranda interrupted, "'colleges in New York'?  You didn't mention that part.  What about colleges in New York?"

Lizzie sighed and gave a quick run-through of the lunch conversation.  "They both just know what they're going to do, Miranda.  And where they want to go.  I can't even decide if I like acting or science better, let alone pick someplace to learn about either one."

"Which is ironic considering how much you hated both being in front of people and dissecting octopuses in middle school," Miranda mused as she pulled on her gym shorts and sat down to yank on her socks.

"Miranda!  Enough about middle school!  I think the summer before freshman year did more than enough to change things!"  Not the least of which was her problem with stage fright.  "Can we focus on now?  Can we focus on the _future_?"

"All right, all right.  Don't get your knickers in a knot!"  Miranda, busy forcing her feet into her tennis shoes, didn't see the startled, amused look Lizzie shot her way.  _Knickers in a knot?!_  "Okay, so you're worried about not having plans for your future?"  She glanced up through strands of red-tinted black hair and Lizzie nodded.  "Liz, don't worry about it, okay?  Gordo's always been ahead of the game.  Remember, he had the chance to go to high school a year before us, finish high school in two years, and finish college by the time we were only starting at a university.  He's probably been thinking about his college plans for years.  And he's always wanted to be a director.  Face it, Gordo's been a little adult almost since elementary school.  You and I—and the _rest_ of the high school—have had to do a little growing up first."

She bent back to her shoelaces and Lizzie nodded again as she watched Miranda cross and loop and pull.  It was true.  Gordo had never seemed to _not_ know where he was going in life.  Still....  "What about Am?"

Miranda straightened from her shoes and grabbed Lizzie's hand.  "What _about_ Am?  Amaryllis Smith is a rare breed—quirky, confident, able to leap tall buildings in a single bound.  She's basically David Gordon in female form.  Don't go comparing yourself to her, either.  Look at me, okay?  I don't know where I'm going to college.  Some days I think I'd like to do music.  Some days I think I'd like to do art.  Some days I think I'll join the Peace Corps.  Most of our friends are the same way.  Tudgeman's clueless, Veruca's clueless, Jon's clueless, Ethan's _clueless_, Maggie's clueless, Bethel's clueless, well, you see what I mean.  You're in good company, okay?"

Lizzie nodded.

"Now," Miranda stood up, "does that help at all?"  Did it?  Lizzie felt a little calmer, that was for sure.  At last, she nodded again.  "Good.  Now come on.  I need to kick some soccer balls...and you need to trip on some!"  Miranda darted out of the way before Lizzie could thwap her shoulder.

"Hey," Lizzie protested, "aren't you supposed to be my best friend?"

"Yeah," Miranda giggled, "but I just totally talked you off a ledge.  That means I get full rights to make fun of you for a while.  Best Friend Rule #1193."

"I thought Best Friend Rule #1193 was 'Friends don't let friends drive drunk," Lizzie countered, following Miranda out of the locker room.

"Ha!  Don't _even _mess with the authoress of the Best Friend Rulebook, chica!  Especially when she's a killer soccer player."  Miranda mimed kicking a ball at Lizzie.  Lizzie laughed but her stomach had grown heavy again.  Blech.  Well, at least this time it was only the humiliating idea of playing soccer that was wreaking havoc with her insides and not her own future....

Gordo's future.

She swallowed at the anxiety and ran to join the rest of her gym class, telling herself firmly that she _would_ connect with a soccer ball without falling over today.

********#######*********

Lizzie walked into her next class, English Honors, ten minutes late, books in one hand, an ice pack in the other.

"Nice of you to join us, Ms McGuire," Mrs. Pierson greeted, her smile a shade more amused than Lizzie wished.

"Sorry," Lizzie murmured, attempting to find the tardy pass the nurse had given her.  "There was an, uh, incident in gym class."

"So I can see."  The young woman's smile slid into sympathetic.  "Don't worry about the pass, I think that bruise is excuse enough."  A few snickers drifted from the back of the class, ceased immediately at the quelling glance the teacher shot their way.  "Why don't you go ahead and take your seat, Lizzie.  I was just about to allow some discussion time for a project I've assigned.  I'm sure your partner, Mr. Gordon, will be happy to explain it all to you."

Lizzie nodded, absurdly grateful, and made her way across the room to the empty seat beside Gordo.  She passed Bethel Washington and Larry Tudgeman on her way—they wore the exact same pained expression that she found waiting on Gordo's face.

Lizzie dropped her books to the desktop and slouched into her seat, relieved when Mrs. Pierson repeated her instructions to, "Go ahead, discuss, this is all the in-class time you get," and the room filled with chatter.  Lizzie felt a tug on the ice pack in her hand, let it go, and turned just as Gordo applied it to the black, spreading bruise smudging her cheekbone.  The cold felt so good, numbing the steady throb, and Lizzie fought against the urge to close her eyes.

"What _happened_, McGuire?" Gordo asked.

"Did you trip over another soccer ball?"  Bethel was probably the only person Lizzie knew who could've gotten away with that question at this precise moment.  Her voice was low and soothing, not a hint of amusement in it at all.  Lizzie twisted a little to see that both Bethel and Tudgeman had turned in their seats.  Bethel's black eyes were filled with concern.

Lizzie's mouth gained a wry curve.  "No.  I actually kicked the soccer ball today.  I just didn't expect Jill Davison's return kick to land at my face."  All three of them winced in concert.  "Yeah," Lizzie agreed.  "So, one nurse's trip later and here I am."

"No other damage beyond the bruise, I assume," Gordo asserted, shifting the ice pack a little on her cheek.  Lizzie hummed a negative.

"That's good," Tudgeman said, chucking a gentle fist against the uninjured side of Lizzie's jaw.  "Wouldn't want my favorite dame missin' out on a crazy, mixed-up project like this."

Gordo smiled, shot a glance at Tudgeman.  "I think she's _my_ favorite dame this time around, Tudge.  As I recall, she's _my _partner for this 'crazy, mixed-up project,' not yours."

Lizzie rolled her eyes, swallowed a moan at the hot ache that rose along her left brow bone.  Reaching up, she took the ice pack from Gordo's hand and set it down on the desk.  "Well, this _dame_ would like to know how exactly she got partnered and what exactly this project is about."

"Yeah, and _this _dame would like to get to work on the project with her partner," Bethel added, her smile bright against her dark skin.

"Duty calls," Tudgeman lamented, "but I hope you feel better soon, chickadee."  With a wink, he joined Bethel in spinning to face front again.

Lizzie shook her head, mouthing, "Chickadee?" and gingerly raised her eyebrows at Gordo.  "So?"

He shrugged.  "Well, when you weren't here and Mrs. Pierson announced the assignment, I figured you'd probably rather be my partner than, say, Tudgeman's.  I assume I'm right?"

Lizzie nodded, lifting the ice pack to her face again.  "So what's this project, then?" she asked.

"Ah, yes, the project.  Basically, we're supposed to research a literary genre—you know, like horror, fantasy, sci-fi, romance, tragedy—and present it to the class.  Mrs. Pierson wants a general history of the genre but she also wants a more specific reason for why that genre exists in literature."

That didn't sound too bad.  "Okay.  So, what genre do you want to do?"

Gordo smirked.  "Ah, you see, no one group can have the same genre, so Mrs. Pierson made up some slips, tossed 'em in her favorite ball cap, and had each group draw one randomly."  He held up a small piece of paper.  "We got fairy tales."

Lizzie frowned.  It had been years since she'd had any contact at all with fairy tales.  Well, beyond the usual Disney movie or cultural reference, that is.  "Fairy tales have a history?" she said at last.

Gordo laughed.  "I guess we'll find out."  His eyes drifted down her face—to her bruise, judging by the way his smile fell away, eyebrows drawing together over darkened blue-grey eyes.  He reached over, fingers skimming the back of her hand before joining her grip along the ice pack.  "I'm sorry, Liz," he breathed.  "You know, someone told me once that you're only supposed to ice injuries for about fifteen to twenty minutes at a time."

Lizzie couldn't help her grin.  "_I_ told you that, Gordo.  And it's actually been about fifteen minutes already."  She lowered the ice pack and his hand dropped back to his side.

"Oh."  His answering grin was sheepish.  "Well, never let it be said that I don't listen to you."

"Oh, never," Lizzie agreed.  "You just don't remember that it's me you're listening to."

"Eh," Gordo dismissed with a roll of a shoulder, "nobody's perfect.  You can't possibly expect me to maintain my—how did you put it?—creative genius and still remember all the _details_ like who said what."

_Obviously._  _If you remembered _details_ you'd remember it was Am talking about creative genius, not me._  The thought burned through her mind, acid, leaving all the green and growing things dried and dust.

Lizzie turned and hid behind the long fall of her hair, pretending to straighten the ice pack on her desk, trying to ignore the brown wasteland behind her eyes.  When she turned back to Gordo, her head was filled with the questions of earlier.  Just what kind of a best friend didn't tell you about his life plans, dated another of your friends secretly, and then arranged to go halfway around the world to pursue his future?

She was overreacting.  She knew she was overreacting.  But the question was there and it wouldn't go away and her mouth was opening to ask it.  At the last instant, she managed to blurt, "So when's this project due?" instead.

If Gordo noted a change in her voice, he didn't let on.  Still smiling, he said, "Next Friday.  Do you want to get together tonight to work on it?"

Again the words tumbled out of her without permission, "Uh, no.  No, I have that paper for Dawson due on Monday, so I should probably get to work on that tonight.  Maybe we can do some research, you know, on our own.  Compare notes in a few days?"

His smile dimmed a little at that.  "Uh, okay."  _Yeah, yeah,_ some searing voice in the back of her mind retorted, _so it's not standard operating procedure.  You're not exactly following Best Friend SOP, either, are ya, Gordo?_  Lizzie did her best to shove the thought back where it belonged—in a closet, in a trunk, below the floorboards somewhere.  What was wrong with her?

Trying for the usual helpful, willing Lizzie, she pasted a small smile on her lips and asked, "So how do you want to split the research?"

Seemingly reassured, Gordo's smile regained its brightness.  "Uh, I don't know.  Maybe one of us can look up the history and one of us can look up some specific types of fairy tales—you know, maybe from other countries.  There might be some info on what those specific fairy tales refer to or even what they mean.  Which do you want?"

Lizzie bit her lip.  "Uh...."  How long did it take to read through fairy tales?  For that matter, how long did it take to read through a history of fairy tales?  Perhaps it was mostly an excuse, but she really did have that science paper to work on and she'd rather devote most of her time to that.

Gordo tapped a hand on the top of his desk.  "How 'bout this?" he asked.  "Since you have that paper, maybe you can concentrate on just reading European fairy tales, while I do both the history and the fairy tales I can find from everywhere else."

Wow.  "That would be great."  Well, if she hadn't felt bad before....  "Thank you, Gordo.  Are you sure that's okay?"

He shrugged.  "For my favorite dame," he mimicked Tudgeman, "anything."

And now she _really_ felt bad.

***  
**end of chapter 2**


	3. Acid Burn

_Thank you, **Joe**, for again taking the time to give me some feedback. . . I'm not entirely sure why no one's reviewing, either. Maybe they're like us, unlikely to review even the stuff they like. Or maybe the combination of the words, "stars," "universe," and "fantasy" in the summary is scaring people off. I hope not. At any rate, I'll probably finish this regardless, 'cuz I'm stubborn like that. . . but I will say it'd be nice to hear how I'm doing a little more often. Thanks all the more for _your_ encouragement. :)_

**Chapter 3: Acid Burn**

If she ignored the guilt—and the occasional flare of unprovoked anger—the rest of the day proceeded fairly close to normal.  Normal, that is, save for Lizzie's fervent defense of poor Ophelia during her English class's discussion of _Hamlet_.  (Had the words, "Insanity is _not _an unreasonable reaction to being abandoned by your ambitious, politics-obsessed, too-smart-for-his-own-good boyfriend!" really come out of her mouth?)  And normal, that is, but for her intense attention to limits and asymptotes in Trigonometry.  (The crease between her eyebrows had been so deep Jon Dukov had actually asked, albeit with bright red cheeks, if she needed some Midol.)

Lizzie squeezed her eyes shut and clutched her backpack closer to her chest, trying to revel in the jostling of the bus.  Normally it made her just a little queasy to ride the bus with her eyes closed, but considering what was probably awaiting her at home....  Well, Jon told his girlfriend just about everything and since Miranda already had part of the Lizzie McGuire freak-out story, the phone would likely already be ringing as she set foot in the door.

What a horrible day.  There wasn't much more to say than that.  As if a soccer ball to the head, a science paper, and an English assignment weren't enough, her best friend had to go and get all grown up on her.  And she had to go and get all juvenile in response.  Admittedly, not anything new in the Lizzie McGuire reaction repertoire—in fact, it was almost an old stand-by—but usually she was at least able to talk about it with her best friends.

Now, talking about it was the last thing she wanted to do.

Talking required some sort of clarity, some sort of grasp on meaningful words.  Lizzie's head felt like mush, a jumble, a snarl, of thought-threads and emotions.  All she was certain of was that today had been horrible.  And that her biggest problem arose out of that UCLA thing Gordo was doing.  And that she really, really wanted to cry.

At last, and too soon, the bus rumbled to a stop.  Lizzie eased her eyes open, stood, and shuffled off the bus behind a handful of other students.  It was beautiful outside—sunny, warm, with just a hint of April moisture in the breeze—but Lizzie barely noticed.  Head down, she fiddled with the nylon strap of her backpack the whole of the short walk to her house.  Stomach heavy with dread, she opened the door and walked in.  No telephone ringing, just a deep, ominous voice and the occasional triumphant cry drifting in from the living room—Matt playing some computer game, probably.

Relieved, even if that phone call might come at any moment, Lizzie blinked away at the hot blur in her eyes and ran up to her room.  The theory of evolution.  Nice, scientific theory of evolution.  She had a paper to research..._focus on that, McGuire_.

And for a while, she did.  Lost in archeopteryx fossils, mind bent on tracing the intricacies of evolution vs. adaptation anomalies, she was startled by the knock on her door, Matt's muffled voice announcing dinner.  She glanced at her clock.  7:09.  Making one last note in her spiral, she stood, then closed the books and stacked them to one side of her desk.  She'd actually made a lot of headway, fortunate since she did have other homework to do, and Miranda hadn't called, after all.

Lizzie stretched and yawned.  That wasn't like Miranda.  Why—oh.  Right.  Tuesday's were the dance troupe's long rehearsal days.  Miranda had probably only gotten home a little while ago.  Given time for some homework, a chat with Jon, and dinner, she probably wouldn't call until around 8 o'clock or so.  Lizzie smiled.  Now that she'd had some peace and quiet, she found herself looking forward to talking to Miranda.  She was even ready for some quality family dinner time.  Still smiling, she opened her door and headed down to the table.

"Ooh, that's quite the shiner, kiddo," were the first words out of her dad's mouth.  Immediately, both her mom and brother turned to look.

"Queen Klutzo trip over another soccer ball?" Matt snickered.  Lizzie could barely believe he was actually fourteen.  She couldn't possibly have been so immature at his age.  Her only consolation was that he was still in that puberty, voice-changing thing: every once in a while, in the middle of some teasing diatribe, his voice would crack and then it was Lizzie's turn to laugh and point.

"Oh, no," clucked her mom, "that looks more like you got hit with a soccer ball."

"Does _everyone _know about that?!" Lizzie demanded, twitching her face away from her mother's cold, probing fingers.  Suddenly, family time looked a lot less appealing.

"Well," chirped Matt, tapping a diabolical finger against his chin, "I _do _have my sources."

"As do I," Jo McGuire admitted, turning away to place a basket of bread on the table.  "But I have to say that I think this was more mother's intuition."

"Yes," Sam McGuire nodded, "that's the highly developed, state-of-the-art version of women's intuition, isn't it?"

"Hot off the assembly line," Jo agreed.

Lizzie rolled her eyes, then shrugged.  Well, at least they weren't talking about her ill-fated encounters with soccer balls anymore.

"Maybe you should order some for Lizzie, Mom," Matt suggested.  "Nothing short of psychic ability will make her a good soccer player."

So much for that idea.  "Mom!" she cried, dropping into her chair with a heavy sigh.

"Enough, Matt," Jo chided, "your sister is in pain.  Leave her alone."

"All right," he grumbled, taking his seat.  He made one last face across the table at Lizzie, but that was the end of the soccer conversation.

The rest of the dinner passed mostly in peace.  There was the usual April discussion about having a garage sale to get rid of most of the stuff currently sitting in storage—and the expected protests from both Lizzie's father and brother that there was "important stuff in there."  And then there was the nightly mention of the school day's events.  Matt had suspiciously little to say on that front, and Lizzie, having decided to stick to just the academics, merely mentioned the science paper and the English project.

"Oh," Jo interjected as Lizzie finished explaining the assignment, "speaking of Gordo, I had a very interesting conversation with Roberta Gordon today."

Lizzie's stomach flipped over.  "Oh?" she asked, her voice oddly thin to her own ears.

"Yes."  Her mom leaned forward.  "It seems Gordo's been accepted to a very competitive film summer program at UCLA."

Like Lizzie didn't know that was coming.  Her hand slackened around her fork.  "Oh, yeah," she said, trying to sound cheerful.  "He told me at lunch today about it."

"Well, that's exciting," her dad smiled.  "What a great opportunity for Gordo.  Before we know it, he'll be world famous and inviting us to his Malibu home to swim in his Olympic-sized pool."  He snapped his fingers.  "Say, do you suppose he'll need garden gnomes?"

Jo gave her husband's arm an indulgent pat.  "Well, maybe, honey, but I think that's a few years off, yet."

"Who cares if it's a few years off, Mom!"  Lizzie turned to see Matt's face glowing, eyes bright with some distant glory-filled scene.  "We all know Gordo's going to be a huge success.  Just think of the story!  I could write an exclusive for the middle school paper, all about the local boy before he's famous.  Think of the publicity!  I could own the first by-line on the first article ever on David Gordon, Director!"  His hands had risen to frame an invisible article title and he dropped them to the table with a bang.  "Lizzie," he begged, bending closer to her over his nearly empty plate, "do you think you could ask Gordo to do an interview with me?  Please?  A favor from a beloved older sister for her dearest younger brother?"

Lizzie wanted to say she'd lost her appetite at the sticky sweetness in Matt's voice, but the truth was she barely even noticed it.  All she could think of was getting away from the table, away from this discussion, away someplace where her stomach could just settle down._  Gordo's so great, Gordo's going away, Gordo will be famous, _sniped some high-pitched voice in her head.  She pushed at it, pushed at the anger rising hot in her chest.

"Um, yeah, Matt, sure," she said at last, only distantly aware of the words stumbling from her mouth.  The shocked looks on her parents' and Matt's faces registered, though.  "Um, well," she hurriedly explained, "Gordo deserves an article, you know.  I mean, he's my best friend."  _Yeah, right, _snorted the voice again.  Lizzie ignored it, looked down at her empty plate.  "Uh, do you mind if I excuse myself?" she asked.  "Miranda's probably gonna call soon and I have a lot of homework still to do."

Her mom nodded slowly, eyeing Lizzie out of the sides of her eyes.  "Sure, honey.  You're excused.  Tell Miranda hi."

Lizzie forced a smile.  "Sure, Mom.  Thanks."

She managed to carry her dishes into the kitchen calmly and even walk slowly up the stairs, but the instant her bedroom door closed behind her, she collapsed to her bed, head in a pillow.

She wanted to _scream!_  Just _scream_ and let it all out, all this nonsense inside her head.  What was going on with her?  Was she angry?  Scared or betrayed?  Was she sad...or was she happy?  She should be happy, right?  Gordo was reaching for his dream.  She _was_ happy, wasn't she?  Surely that was inside her somewhere.  She just couldn't feel it, with everything else there too.

Miranda was right.  There was no reason to feel upset because Gordo knew his future and Lizzie didn't.  Miranda was absolutely right.  There wasn't any rush.  Lizzie had time to figure herself out.  She didn't need to resent Gordo's certainty just because of her own uncertainty.

Resent?  Was she feeling resentment?  Well, guilt was probably there—and shame—if she truly _resented_ Gordo.

Her fingers dug into the edges of the pillow, her mouth opening in a scream.  But her throat was so tight, no sound came out.

What was _wrong_ with her?

Maybe Jon wasn't so far off when he asked her if she wanted a Midol.  Maybe she was just PMSing.  What a horrible excuse, but she had to admit there were times of the month where she just felt a little more out of control.  Maybe that was all this was?  Just a hormonal downtime?

Lizzie shifted to her side, curling around the pillow.  She drew in a long breath, released it slowly.  Just hormones.  Okay.  Okay.  Then all she needed was a little time to work things out.  Just a little time to get her head straightened up and let the hormones do their thing.  Just a little time.

When Miranda called that night, demanding to know how she was doing, that was exactly what Lizzie told her.  "I'll be fine," she said.  "You know me, Miranda.  I just need some time to let the freak-out burn itself to ashes.  It always does.  I'll be fine."

  


*********#######*********

"Oh, Liz-babe, how _are _you?" Margaret Fogel asked, bouncing over to Lizzie's desk in World History the next morning.  Eyeing the other girl's perfect honey curls and wide, earnest aquamarine eyes, Lizzie found herself wishing—for probably the twenty-third time that morning—that she could just crawl under a rock somewhere.  Despite a half-hour battle, she'd been unable to hide the bruise under concealer and foundation, and to make it worse, all attempts at turning her hair into something decent this morning had failed...abysmally.  Finally, she'd just tied it back in a sloppy, slick ponytail and admitted to herself that she looked terrible, like some stereotype of a battered trailer-park wife.

"I'm doin' better, Maggie."  She scrounged up a smile.  "Thanks."

Maggie beamed.  "No prob.  When I saw Miranda last night at practice, she told me what happened, and I spent all last night thinking about you, hoping you were okay."

"Yeah, Lizzie," agreed Ethan Craft, coming up behind Maggie to sling an arm around the dancer's shoulders.  "We were both hoping you were okay.  I got hit by a soccer ball once...and a basketball...and a golf ball," he laughed, "yo, for a jock I sure have bad luck with sports.  But anyway, I know it's no fun.  But you're lookin' pretty good."

_Liar_, Lizzie thought, as Maggie nodded and assured her that the bruise was "barely noticeable."  _You're both liars_.  But it was sweet of them to try and console her—unlike Kate Sanders, who'd just laughed and whispered snide comments to her friends when Lizzie walked in the door.  Fortunately, history was the only class Lizzie had with anyone from Kate's crowd.  There'd probably be lots of staring the rest of the day, but the laughter should be over and done with now.

Out in the hall, the one-minute bell rang and Maggie and Ethan excused themselves to go to their seats.  A moment later, Miranda walked in.

"You look like you didn't get any sleep last night, McGuire," she said bluntly as she dropped to the seat beside Lizzie.

Lizzie gave a half-hearted chuckle.  "Oh, this?"  She gestured at her head.  "This is just the result of a hair product and make-up disaster."

"Mm-hmm," Miranda drawled, eyebrow doing that trademark thing again—_And I'm a circus clown, right?_  "Look, are you still freaking over this college/future thing?"

Lizzie snorted.  "I think I told you that last night, Miranda."

Miranda's eyes narrowed.  "No.  What you told me was that you were gonna be fine.  This is not fine, McGuire, in case you didn't notice."

"If you recall, _Sanchez_," Lizzie's own eyes were narrowing now, "I said I needed some time—I _will_ be fine, okay?  So excuse me if in the meantime I'm a little less than stellar."  She tried injecting some edge into her tone, but the words just came out tired...which she was.  She didn't want to admit it to Miranda, but last night hadn't exactly been filled with sweet, peaceful dreams.

Regardless, Miranda backed off a little.  "Okay, Liz.  I'm sorry for jumping on you."  She paused, bit her lip, then leaned forward, continuing, "But I'm telling you, there's something more going on in your head than this college thing.  And if you want to talk about it, you know where to find me."

The bell rang, then, and Lizzie closed her mouth, tongue still poised for reply.  For what reply, though, she wasn't quite sure.

And there wasn't an opportunity to find out, at least not that period.  The rest of the class passed in discussion of the communist regime and its role in the second half of the twentieth century—an interesting enough topic—and then the bell was ringing again.  Miranda, who had to walk all the way across the building to get to her next class, barely had time for a wave before she was out the door.  Lizzie merely shrugged, packed up her books, and tried to get in the mood for conjugating some Latin verbs.

Intermediate Latin was the only class Lizzie had without any of her friends.  She knew people—Parker McKenzie from middle school and a few other familiar faces—but no one she was close to.  It was fortunate, really: Latin was so tedious sometimes that Lizzie actually appreciated the lack of distractions.  And today, well, there weren't any urgent, worried exclamations over her bruise, just a few polite looks here and there.  Pleased, Lizzie found it easier than usual to settle into the language.

At last, Latin ended and Lizzie dropped by her locker to exchange books before heading on to Drama II.  As much as Latin usually frustrated her, drama always left her energized and at peace, ready to take on even Mr. Dawson for fifty minutes.  She sometimes joked to herself that whatever happened in Latin, drama would undo it.  Unfortunate, then, that today she'd left Latin class feeling so relaxed.

When Lizzie reached the drama classroom, most everyone else was there, all chatting, loudly, as usual.  Smiling, she made her way to the other side of the room, where Veruca Albano and Am stood, apparently deep in conversation.  She drew closer slowly, knowing that as soon as the other two saw her, they'd stop talking to ask about her health.

"A-and then," Veruca was saying, laughter threading her words, "then, Larry dropped them down the stairwell.  They hit the bottom and started back up and, I, of course, stepped back.  B-but Larry," she cleared her throat, swallowing back giggles, "L-Larry just stayed there, leaning over the railing.  I heard him say, 'Whoa!  They look like they're gonna hit me!' and then," a few giggles escaped, "t-then SMACK!  Oh, God, Am, the little ball hit him right on the forehead!  A-and he just, he just falls back."  Veruca's arms pinwheeled.  "He's lying there, dazed, staring at the ceiling, and the superballs are just bouncing all over.  God, it was so funny!  Completely proved the experiment, though."  Lizzie smiled.  Typical Tudgeman.  And poor Veruca, Larry's physics partner.  Lizzie couldn't even count the number of stories Veruca had told this year about Tudgeman's mishaps in the science lab.

Am was coughing, the laughter winding down.  "Oh, Ver.  Ver, it's a wonder you ever get anything done in that class."

Veruca tossed her head back.  "Don't I know it!  Ah, lucky, lucky you, Am.  Gordo never does anything wrong."

Lizzie's smile dimmed.  That's right.  How had she forgotten that Gordo was Am's physics partner?  _Too_, a quiet voice corrected.  _Her physics partner _too_._

Am shrugged.  "Yeah," she said, voice soft, "Gordo's a good partner."  She paused, then laughed.  "But Larry's a trip.  You always have such good science stories, Ver."

"Yeah, much to my dismay!"  Veruca turned just a little, just enough, Lizzie guessed, to catch her movement out of the corner of an eye.  Lizzie quickly replaced the smile on her face and prepared to meet both hellos and questions.  It was mechanical by now, though, and her mind had little trouble leaving the answers to her mouth.  Instead, through all the conversation—and the rest of the class—her thoughts were once again filled with Gordo, colleges, summer programs, careers. . . .

By the time she saw Am and Gordo at lunch, anger strangled her breath, banded her chest, everything an irritant.  Sharp, sneering comments coiled against her tongue, and her jaw ached from keeping them inside.  It didn't matter what Am and Gordo did, what they said, all of it set her scalp itching, her hands balling into knots.  The urge to scream had returned, only now she wanted to scream at them—at anyone, really.  Instead, she choked her way through lunch, trying hard to focus on the dry, sawdust sandwich and chips, glad for the acid burn of the orange in her throat.

****  
**end of chapter 3**

**chapter notes:  
**thanks to TG, whose experience with superballs and stairwells in physics provided Larry with yet another misadventure


	4. Escape Velocity

_Thank you to all who took the time to review...I can't tell you how important it is to hear how I'm doing_—_for good or ill. :) **VaSinFlor**, I hadn't even thought about that possible explanation; thank you. And yeah, **Kat**, Lizzie is pretty wound up... but I hope she's not too insane. _**_Pixievix_**_, **Elementals**,and **Trinity Kirara**, I'm glad to hear you're liking this so far; I shall certainly endeavor to keep the chapters coming... and I hope they stay intriguing._

_In the meantime, here's chapter four.___

**Chapter 4: Escape Velocity**

The next couple of days followed the same pattern.  Only worse.  At night, she found herself lying in bed and staring at the ceiling instead of sleeping, what little sleep she managed filled with eerie, abstract dreamscapes—not nightmares, exactly, but enough to leave her feeling more disturbed than rested in the morning.  At school, she dreaded running across Miranda, Gordo, or Am.  The words came too quick to catch, barbed, caustic, searing her lips, rendering her mouth unable to apologize, despite the shame that flooded her throat in the wake of their wide eyes and slack mouths.  Am actively avoided her now, which was bad enough, but the kind, confused efforts of her oldest friends—Miranda's struggle to give Lizzie some space, Gordo's persistent lighthearted jokes and vast collection of affectionate nicknames—left Lizzie feeling rather like...well, an opisthaptor.

She was fairly certain the rest of their friends knew something was going on with her, but it was easier to be herself around them, or fake it, and they never said anything.  Which, really, was rather odd, now that she thought about it.  Jon, as Miranda's boyfriend, and Tudgeman, as one of Am's and Gordo's closest friends, probably wanted to do the whole protective I'll-give-her-a-piece-of-my-mind thing.  Ethan and Maggie, two of the most genuinely nice people Lizzie knew, were likely itching to try their hands at soothing whatever hurt they thought Lizzie was suffering from.  As for Veruca, she had never been one to keep her opinion to herself—and Veruca would _definitely _have an opinion on Lizzie's behavior.  Bethel was perhaps the only one of Lizzie's friends who was more inclined to let Lizzie come to her rather than the other way around.

No, it was very unusual that none of her friends had confronted her.  The only explanation that Lizzie could come up with was that Gordo and Miranda had told them to leave her be.

What was worse than an opisthaptor?  Whatever that was, she was it.

If only she could just get _over _this thing.  Sometimes she almost found herself telling Gordo or Miranda what was going on.  Then, at the last moment, she'd realize she didn't really know what was going on.  How could she apologize, how could she explain, when she didn't understand it herself?  All she knew was that, as much as she wished it to, that hormonal time-of-the-month thing did not materialize.  This was all Grade-A Lizzie McGuire Gen-u-ine Turmoil.

Yay.

By the time the weekend arrived, Lizzie had decided that, while this thing might run its course in a few weeks, in the meantime the best thing she could do was avoid her friends.  Borrowing the car for a library run, Lizzie spent most of Saturday just driving around, hopping on the highway for a little while and contemplating taking it as far east as it would go, then circling the inside of the nearest national park at 25mph over and over, until at last it was nearly dark.  When she arrived home, brightly illustrated fairy tale anthologies in her arms, salsa and browning meat hung heavy in the air.

"Oh, honey, you're home," her mom called from where she stood by the stove, apron on, spatula in hand.  "I was just starting the taco meat.  You've got about a half-hour or so until dinner, if you and Gordo want to work on your project."

Gordo?  Lizzie stopped dead, hand halfway to returning the key to its basket on the counter. "Gordo?"

Her mom looked up from stirring and smiled.  "Of course.  Weren't you and he planning on working on your project tonight?  He got here just five minutes ago, said you had a study date.  I told him to go ahead up to your room."  Her mom's eyes narrowed.  "You _do _have a study date, don't you?"

Lizzie sighed, dropped the key into the basket.  Not that she was in good shape to see Gordo...and not that he was right to barge into her home and lie to her mom...but if she told her mom that, chances were awfully high that her mom might never trust Gordo again.  That was the last thing Lizzie needed.  She put on a smile.  "Oh, yeah.  Sure.  I've just been so crazy with that science paper and research and all that I forgot for a second.  I'll just go up and find him."

"Okay, sweetie."  The suspicion faded from her mom's face.  "And tell him he's welcome to stay for dinner if he'd like."

Lizzie nodded, drew a deep breath, and headed up the stairs to her room.

When she opened the door, Gordo was sprawled on her bed, nose in a thick, hardcover book.  He didn't even twitch as she closed the door behind her, only turning a page as she dropped her stack of books to the desk.  She leaned a palm against her chair, crossed one ankle over the other, and stared at him, waiting.

"A little late, aren't you, baby?" he asked at last, affecting a Rat Pack gangster drawl.  His eyes peeked over the top of the book, brows waggling at her.

"Didn't your mother ever tell you not to drop in on a dame unannounced?" Lizzie shot back.

"Say, doll, that ain't a bad accent you got goin' there."  Gordo winked as he slapped the book closed and sat up.

"Flattery will get you nowheres, especially seein' as I think _you _taught me this accent."  She shifted her hip against the chair and crossed her arms.

"But what a student you were, eh?"  He rose to his knees, arms spread imploringly.  "My own fair-haired dame."  His eyebrows jumped again, a slick smirk bending his mouth.

Lizzie held his pleading gaze a long moment before finally rolling her eyes.  How could she stay mad at him when he acted so...charming...all the time?  "Eh," she shrugged, "you're lucky I like you so well."  Gordo's smirk sprawled to a full smile.  "But if I catch you on my bed in my absence again, pal, I won't be so kind...."

"Hey, now," Gordo protested, all accent gone from his voice, "I've known you my whole life.  Can't a life-long friend take a little rest on his life-long friend's bed once in a while?"

Lizzie's eyebrows rose.  "Ooh, playing the life-long friend card.  Cheap, Gordo, really cheap."

"I can't help that it's true, Lizzie.  I mean, I've known you for so long your parents don't even blink when I show up and you're not here.  I told your mom we had a study date and she practically ushered me up the stairs and into your room."

Lizzie shook her head and settled into her desk chair.  "Right.  And this is the same mom who looked ready to fillet you for dinner when she asked me if we really _did _have a study date."  She snorted a laugh.  "You know, David Gordon, for knowing me my whole life, you have a very limited understanding of how the parental units in this house actually operate.  If I hadn't told my mom I was expecting you—if I hadn't _lied_, to my _mom_—my dad would have greeted you with a shotgun and one of those industrial-strength flashlights—both aimed at your eyes—the next time you showed up on our doorstep."

Gordo winced.  "Yeah.  I forget how, uh, hands-on your parents are.  My parents would just assign you an essay or something if they found out you lied to them."

It was Lizzie's turn to wince.  "I think I prefer the shotgun, personally."  She shook away the image of herself sitting at a computer, churning out page after page of Personal Responsibility and Respect for One's Elders and focused back on Gordo, still sitting on her bed.  "But I think _I'm _rather tempted to assign an essay.  Since when do you come over unexpected, lie to my parents, all to ambush me with homework?"  The words came out in that sharp tone she'd been using for the past few days, and Lizzie wished she could swallow them and start over...especially when Gordo's face settled into a  scowl.

"Since you started refusing to talk to me about said homework."  His voice was hard and Lizzie noted that his shoulders had risen to a tight line nearly against his ears.  It was the first time since the shift in her behavior that Gordo looked angry.  Shocked, Lizzie felt her own anger drop away.

"I know," she conceded, "and I'm sorry.  I've been so preoccupied with that Dawson paper—"

"Disproving the theory of evolution, I know," Gordo interjected, his frown smoothed into a half-grin.

Relieved, Lizzie returned his smile.  "Right," she said, "and I only just got the research stuff for the fairy tale project today."

Gordo nodded.  "Okay.  I understand."  He reached behind him for the thick, hardcover book he'd been reading when she walked in.  "Why don't I just briefly tell you what I found on the history of fairy tales, and then we can work on our own fairy tales of the world.  I've read a few, but, honestly, I could use some time to read them a little slower, take some notes.  And if we find anything interesting, well, we're in the same room."

"Sounds good.  Go right ahead, Mr. Gordon."  Her hand flared in an expansive sweep of the room.  "Enlighten me."

And for the next few minutes or so, he did.  It was a short history, Gordo's recitation doubtless briefer than the history they'd give to the class, but it was enough to give Lizzie an idea of what to look for in the fairy tales she'd be reading—moral lessons, folklore, how the style of the fairy tale might relate to the culture it arose from, so on.  After he'd finished his explanation, Lizzie shifted her pile of books to the floor, shoved Gordo over, and they both settled down to reading fairy tales, Gordo lounging on her pile of pillows, Lizzie on her stomach at the end of the bed, her feet swinging in the air.  Occasionally, Gordo would reach out to tweak a toe or an ankle in his fingers, and it occurred to Lizzie how much she'd missed him, even though it had really only been a few days.

She was almost through her second book before her mom called them down for dinner.  By then, Lizzie's stomach—and Gordo's—were rumbling, the smell of spicy tacos drifting under the door, and Lizzie was hardly surprised at Gordo's eager, "yes!" when she invited him to stay for dinner.  Knowing Gordo, Lizzie suspected he'd already eaten at his house, but that had never stopped him before.

"Mrs. McGuire, have I ever told you what marvelous tacos you make?" Gordo asked after he finished his second one.  The table had been almost entirely silent up until now, everyone less concerned with talking than they were with getting precariously piled taco, sour cream, salsa, lettuce, and tomato into their mouths.  It was a sort of art form, and Lizzie was accustomed to the quiet.

"Why, yes, Gordo, I think you have," Lizzie's mom smiled over the remaining few bites of her taco.  "But I don't mind hearing it again."  She looked at the two men in her own family, who were eagerly starting their third tacos.  "Especially since I rarely get such praise anymore."

Her husband hastily swallowed, protested, "Come on, honey, I think actions speak louder than words here.  Don't you agree, son?"

Matt didn't bother with swallowing.  "As a journalist, a writer, a humble worshiper of that great goddess, Words," he intoned through a mouthful of taco, "normally I'd have to disagree with ya, Dad.  But in this case, I think you're absolutely right."

Lizzie grimaced.  "Ew, Matt.  Isn't it against your laws of 'worship' to profane words by speaking with your mouth full?"  She shuddered.  "Ew."

"Perhaps," Matt conceded, swallowing this time.  "But I'm a tolerant worshiper.  After all," his eyes flashed to Lizzie's, "you butcher Words every time you open your mouth.  'Tis enough to make a man weep."  He sniffled, dabbed at his eyes with his napkin.

Lizzie glared, lifted her fork to a threatening angle.  She'd just opened her mouth, a scathing remark concerning Matt's use of the word 'man' on the edge of her tongue, when she realized Gordo was laughing.  Both glare and fork shifted from her brother to her best friend.

He lifted his hands, palms forward.  "Sorry, Liz.  But, well, your brother's a writer.  It was funny."

"You're not supposed to take _his _side," she ground through locked teeth even as Matt leaned over his plate, saying, "I always knew there was a reason I liked you, Gordo."

Gordo looked from one sibling to the other before finally replying, "Well, Matt, I hope this means you'll write a screenplay for me one day, free of charge."  There was a suspicious waver in his voice, though, and Lizzie felt a smirk folding her lips.  _Afraid, are we, Mr. Gordon?_

"Of course," Matt nodded, "and there's the article, too."

"What article?"

"Didn't Lizzie tell you?"  The satisfaction drained from her body, leaving her barely able to manage a small smile in response to Gordo's questioning look.  "I was hoping to interview you for an article on this UCLA program you're doing.  You know, be the first journalist to get the story of David Gordon, up-and-coming famous director.  Lizzie was supposed to ask if you'd do it."

Once again, the questioning look swung her way, this time accompanied by her brother's slightly irritated glance.  It wasn't too hard to give her minuscule smile a sheepish bend.  "I'm sorry.  I must've forgot, with school and...."  The excuse was spooled and ready at her lips, but Matt had turned away with a dismissive roll of the eyes, Gordo giving an understanding nod as he, too, turned.

Why did Matt have to bring that up?  Lizzie looked down at the remaining half of her second taco, poked at it with her fork.  Her appetite was gone, the familiar rush of sick panic and hot anger burning at the bottom of her stomach.  She had been doing so well, comfortably reading with Gordo on her bed, all thoughts of UCLA, careers, futures, all that forgotten.  And Matt had to go and dredge it up again.

Blast him.

She tried to eat a few more bites of taco, knowing that later she'd wish she'd finished it, and attempted to listen to Gordo and Matt iron out a good time to get together for that interview.  Maybe she just needed to confront it, ride it out, control the anger that way, mind over matter—mind over mind—er, something like that.  But the more they talked, the higher the heat in her stomach rose.  Her hands rolled into fists and when at last the conversation, and dinner, was finished, she rose from her seat, cleared the table, and headed silently up to her room.  Gordo stopped off at the bathroom and by the time he joined her, she had moved all her books to her desk and was seated there, back to the door, hunched intently over the third fairy tale anthology.

Her ears reached anxiously for the sound of his movements.  A long, breathless moment—he paused in the doorway, noting her new position?—the slow scuff of his feet on the floor, the low creak of the bedsprings—he settled on the bed, still watching her?—another breathless moment, another creak of the bed—he wondered why she wouldn't turn around, decided never mind, leaning back against her pillows, reaching for his book?

But there was no dry crack of a book opening, no flutter of pages.

Instead, "Why are you over there?"  His voice was very, very soft; Lizzie couldn't decide if he was worried, curious, hurt.

She didn't turn around to find out.  "Figured it'd be more comfortable over here," she said, as casually as she could manage.

A pause, the only sound their breathing, still no book opening.  The mattress gave another low groan, then, "Liz, what's going on?"  Still that softness.

She had to look now—no way he'd buy her words if her actions didn't back them.  "What d'you mean?" she tossed, trying for a confused glance over her shoulder.  He was on the edge of the bed, folded over his knees, hands resting lax between them.  His face was serious, smoothed of expression, eyes more grey than blue.  When was the last time she'd seen his eyes that grey?  When she'd broken up with Mark Rempala after Homecoming last semester, maybe?

She realized, abruptly, that she'd turned around to face him.

"I mean," he said slowly, "that something's going on with you.  I want to know what it is."

Lizzie bristled at the command in his tone.  Who did he think he was?  Her father?  She tamped down on the anger even as it wormed hot fingers around her ribcage, along her spine.  "And what brings you to this illustrious conclusion?" she demanded, sarcasm threading her voice.

What looked like an answering surge of anger lit Gordo's face.  He swallowed before answering, heat edging his words, "Oh, maybe that you've been acting like, frankly, a bitch for the past few days."

Lizzie's head snapped back, her mouth dropping open.  He did _not _just say that!  Her grasp on the anger slipped a little, heat flooding her back to clamp around her shoulders.  "Well, if I'm such a _bitch_," the word snapped against her teeth, "why are you even here?"

"Because I'm your friend, and I'm concerned.  Miranda said you were worried about colleges, but did it ever occur to you that maybe talking to us would help you work through it?  Instead, for the past three days all you've done is snap at us, and, honestly, I'm getting pretty sick of it."  His eyes shifted to a thin blue.  "I want my best friend back."

"Your best friend?" she scoffed.  "What do you want from me, Gordo, really?  Because, as far as I'm aware, your best friend's sitting right here."  She pointed at her feet, her arm and hand so taut they shook.  "You don't want her and, truly, I'd like to know exactly why that is."  The words echoed in her head a moment after she said them—_you don't want her_—and she dimly registered that her neck was warm, her shoulders trembling, that she was still talking, words flowing thick, battering her tongue before flowing from her lips in a singeing wave.  Oops, some part of her wanted to laugh, here we go again.

"I'm a _bitch_, we've already established that, but are there any other dissatisfactions you'd like to share?  Maybe if you tell me, I'll keep an eye out for this best friend you want.  Is she a little taller?  Shorter?  Thinner, definitely, right?  And smarter.  Way, way smarter.  And she should be prettier.  Someone who never has bad days, someone who's always there for you, maybe even trailing two steps behind you, to wait on your every need.  Maybe she should be telepathic.  That way, you always know what she's thinking.  Or maybe, Gordo, if we look hard enough, we can find some empty vessel you can fill with what you want her to be.  That way, you'll never have any trouble _finding _her.  And she certainly wouldn't be a _bitch_!"  The last word was nearly a shout; it tore from her lungs to join the rest of the jagged shards of sound hanging like glass in the air.

She held Gordo's gaze and waited for her breathing to slow.  His eyes were back to grey now, she noted just before they dropped to his lap.  He lifted a hand to scrub against his mouth, mumbled, "I need to go," in the barest whisper.

"Yes," she agreed, "I think that's a good idea."  Her lungs still heaved, struggled for air, but she ignored them, watching Gordo gather his books together, pull on his shoes, stand.

She rose too.

He walked over to her, lifted his eyes from the ground to meet hers.  They were bright under the shadowed furl of his brows, and Lizzie realized she didn't know this look.  She wanted to be angry, but instead she was appalled.  She'd known him for seventeen years, knew every aspect of him—how could she not know this expression?  She looked to his hunched shoulders, the low jut of his neck, his fixed feet, the twitch in his jaw, finding them all familiar—separately familiar.  Joined together like this, she had no idea what they meant.

His hands wouldn't stop moving, shifting books back and forth.  He cleared his throat, blinked, rasped, "I—"  Her breath still hadn't settled into rhythm.  "I'm—" he tried again.  The books came to rest in his left hand, the right rising toward her, palm wide.  "I didn't—"  Why wouldn't her lungs relax?  "I'll see you later, Liz," he finally managed, the hand reaching her cheek, thumb sweeping the bruise in a brief, warm brush.  Then his hand was gone.  And he was gone, the door latching behind him.

Her lungs hitched, drew a swift, deep breath, exhaled.  She moved to sit on her bed, fingers sliding to snag a small pillow.  Downstairs, the front door opened and closed.  Again, her lungs hitched, drew a swift, deep breath.  And then another.  And another.  Until there was no more room in her chest, only an exhale, waiting.  And with that exhale, she was sobbing.

She fell sideways, curled her knees to her chest, buried her mouth in the pillow and cried, tears hot on her cheeks, slithering cool trails into her hair.  For what seemed hours, she stayed that way, hoping the pillow muffled the sound, wishing for...something, some nameless thing to make it better.

She stayed that way until the tears ran out and then stayed there longer, sniffling until at last, between one shuddering breath and the next, she slipped into sleep.

******  
end of chapter 4**


	5. Bubble Universe

_Thank you again to all my reviewers! **pixievix, **this wasn't out ASAP (sorry), but I hope the wait wasn't too torturous—and that this chapter makes up for it. :D **Elementals**, so I'm in-depth, huh? Cool. I'm trying to stay inside Lizzie's head, which can be a mightily chaotic place at the moment, so I'm glad to hear I'm still in there, somewhere. And, **Joe**, it's good to hear from you again.I suppose I can overlook your absence since you were on vacation and all (I actually was too). :) As for the intensity, I'm delighted you thought so. That's what I was going for...plus it's a kick to write. This chapter should lighten things up a bit._

_I did mention this story would be odd, didn't I? And so—in the grand tradition of the Shakespearean pastoral comedy (to lend it _some _credibility)—here's chapter five._

**Chapter 5: Bubble Universe**

Birdsong woke her. She fought against it for a while, eyes still closed, trying to ignore the joyful, raucous trills and chirps. They were so loud, though, and before Lizzie could sink back into sleep she found herself wondering if perhaps she'd left a window open. She didn't think so; the weather had been nice lately but still a bit too chill at night for opening windows.

One of the birds launched into a particularly enthusiastic aria, then, and Lizzie frowned, reaching for the covers and rolling away from the sound.

But her hand didn't find sheets.

And as she turned, her cheek didn't brush smooth pillowcase. Something soft and damp tickled her skin instead. She snuffled a little as it feathered against her nose, realized the air smelled more of wet earth and greenery than warm cotton.

Eyes still closed, she reached a hand to the space beside her head, lowering it slowly. Cool, soft points prickled her palm first, bending easily then sliding between her spread fingers. She formed a tentative fist, felt the wet squeak, tugged, heard the unmistakable rip of grass tearing free.

Her eyes flew open and, sure enough, that was grass in her hand. In fact, all she could see was grass, tall, unruly spears of it, right there in front of her face.

_It's a dream_, she told herself, rising on one elbow. _Just a dream_.

But for a dream, it was uncommonly vivid. She was lying in a forest meadow, ground awash in tall grass and waves of brilliant, blue-violet flowers. Here and there, lichen-mottled stones and sun-bleached spines of fallen branches rose like islands from the greenery. The clearing was ringed with trees, mostly large ones with great, fat trunks and a sprawling tangle of branches, but closer to the center of the meadow grew smaller, gnarled trees, more like the crab apples Lizzie had climbed as a child. It was a clear morning, the sky cerulean overhead, pale sunlight slanting low through breeze-ruffled leaves, not yet bright enough to really warm the earth or—Lizzie noted the grey wisps of mist curled deeper into the forest—burn off all its moisture.

Yes, very vivid for a dream. Very real, too. She shivered as a finger of wind chilled her ankles. Absently, she tugged the hem of her skirt over the bared skin...

_Skirt? _Lizzie struggled to her feet, very nearly tripping over the hem of said skirt.

"What the _hell_?" she shouted into the quiet.

This was _not_ what she'd been wearing yesterday. Instead of jeans and a van Gogh print t-shirt, she was wearing some kind of _dress_. She picked at the fabric. It was heavy but soft, and as Lizzie fiddled with it, she realized the dress was made of two parts. The bottom part was white, long-sleeved, and cut close to her skin from the low, square neckline to just past her hips, where it fell in loose folds to the tops of her feet. The top part seemed little more than a wide strip of maroon cloth with a hole in the middle for her head. It was a bit more elegant than that, of course, with a neckline that mirrored its counterpart and red laces up the sides from hip to arm. Still, Lizzie couldn't help thinking of it as rather an exalted apron.

She twisted a little, took a few steps, twirled, attempting to get used to all the extra fabric, all that new weight. After a few tries, she found she could manage fairly well without tripping.

Not that it mattered, of course. Because _this was a dream_.

But if it were a dream, why was she thinking so clearly? Why was she able to feel the cool breeze, the warming sun, the damp of the earth beneath her slippered feet? Why couldn't she wake up?

Maybe she just needed to tell herself to wake up.

"Come on, Lizzie," she murmured. "Wake up now. Time to wake up." She tried pinching her skin. "Ow!" Okay, so despite all those TV shows she'd watched, all those books she'd read, pinching herself did _not _prove she wasn't dreaming.

Right?

She drew a deep breath. Okay. Don't panic. How else could she wake up? She'd tried telling herself this was a dream. She'd tried telling herself to wake up. What else was left? Dying?

The breath hitched in her chest. Actually, that wasn't a bad idea. In dreams, you always woke up before you died. Especially in falling dreams...

Ooh. Falling. Lizzie looked at the trees around her. All those lovely trees. Most of them were too hard to climb, or too short to really fall from, but there was one that looked to be a likely specimen. Balling some skirt into her fists, she started toward it.

It took several tries to heave herself onto the lowest branch—she hadn't climbed trees in years and never had she done it with so much fabric tangling her legs—but once there, the climbing went much easier. She even found herself settling into a sort of rhythm, transferring the skirts smoothly from one hand to the other as she crawled higher and higher.

About halfway to the branch she'd chosen as her jumping place, the breeze picked up, gusting enough to sway the trunk lightly and tug insistently at both her hair and her dress. She had to stop every other branch to rearrange her grip on the skirts or pull hair out of her face. It was then she realized just how much hair she had: although she'd kept it long since eighth grade, never had it been all the way to her waist, and never had it been quite so thick. _Part of the dream_, she told herself, then mumbled, as she once more smoothed a wave of it out of her eyes, "I could kill someone with this stuff." She chuckled, imagining her hair pulled into a thick whip of a braid. Not a bad weapon of choice—like Indiana Jones. Gritting her teeth she began climbing again, this time humming the Indiana Jones theme song.

Who knew she'd be so giddy when about to commit dream suicide?

At that moment, the wind took its chance to snatch the skirts from her hand and wrap hair across both eyes. Reflexively, she reached one hand to the dress and one hand to her hair, regaining control of both just in time for the tree to give a particularly strong lurch, sending her free-falling to earth.

It was terrifying in the moment after the shock wore off, so terrifying she couldn't even find her voice. Why had she decided to do this? She _hated _falling, almost enough to keep her from going on roller coasters. Yet she'd only remembered this _now_?

She was falling, falling, scream thick in her throat, and then she wasn't falling anymore.

"Oof!" All the air huffed from her lungs, and Lizzie fought against the urge to throw up.

It was dark. It was dark! Did that mean she had woken up?

No. It simply meant her eyes were closed.

Slowly, she eased them open.

Green, trees, meadow, some men, and—she turned her head a little—_Tudgeman!_

"Greetings, fair maiden!" he said, then turning to the other men grouped around him, "You see, my brothers, I have indeed learned to catch anything, even something as heavy as a millstone, in my left hand." Lizzie took in the men's astonished faces then realized that Tudgeman was actually holding her, his left arm underneath her back with his hand curved rather uncomfortably high on her leg. She jumped out of his grip, twitching her skirts back in place, satisfied when the tail end of her hair lashed against his face.

"Ick, Tudgeman!" she cried, "I didn't _want _you to catch me, you idiot." Never mind that in the last few seconds of flight, that was _exactly _what she'd been praying for. "That was the only way for me to wake up! And, I swear, if you're saying I'm as heavy as a millstone...!" She let the threat dangle, narrowing her eyes in that death glare that had worked so well on Gordo last night.

"Alack, no, fair maid!" Tudgeman protested, bowing. "Though I do not quite understand what you mean by this 'tudge-man,' nor why you would wish to wake up when you seem quite awake to me, I must say that you were not heavy at all, dear lady. Nay, you were light as a feather! I was merely explaining to my brothers the extent of my gift. Catching you required but the merest fraction of my ability." He offered a gallant, sweeping bow and Lizzie realized suddenly that while he looked like Tudgeman, his hair was longer and the clothes not at all right. He wore bright green trousers, tall black boots, and a loose white shirt, its sleeves billowing from beneath a thigh-length tunic of heavily embroidered emerald silk, small stones glinting from the fabric. She glanced briefly at the other men. They wore different colors, but the style and opulence of the clothing remained the same.

"Uh, uh," she stammered, trying for a curtsy, "yes, I apologize. I'm rather lost and you look a little like someone I know."

"Do I, indeed?" The man who looked like Tudgeman appeared delighted. "Well, fair maid, you are certainly welcome to travel with us! My brothers and I are on a quest of sorts, you see. We are rather new to these surrounds ourselves and traveling companions are most agreeable."

"Especially when they're ladies," added one of the brothers, this one in red trousers and tunic.

"Aye," agreed a brother in blue, "we don't see many ladies on the road."

A brother in orange sniffled a little. "Reminds us of our mum. And our nanny. And the ladies in waiting."

"We miss them," chimed a brother in yellow.

"But maybe _you _can be our mum," orange jumped in again. All the brothers clamored to agree.

Lizzie looked from one eager face to the next. They looked fairly harmless, but, well, she really just wanted to _wake up_. Maybe if she could get them to leave she might be able to scrounge up enough courage to climb the tree again. Or maybe she'd just wake up on her own. "Uh," she tried a half-smile. "I, uh, don't think that's a good idea." Every face fell. "I just, uh, I, um..." she reached for an excuse. "I don't cook!" Yes! Surely they wouldn't want a woman who couldn't cook traveling with them! "I just, I can't cook. At all."

"Neither can I," came a voice from the midst of the brightly colored brothers, a rather familiar voice. Lizzie frowned, angled her head for a better view. The brothers shuffled and shifted and from behind their very tall forms appeared a shorter one. He was dressed in brown trousers, brown boots, loose grey shirt beneath a dark green tunic. His hair, like hers, was longer—she hadn't seen it that long since Rome—but it was unmistakably him, unmistakably Gordo.

The name leapt to her tongue, relief leaving her arms and legs tingling—Gordo would know what to do—but then she remembered Tudgeman. She'd thought this man in green was he, but she'd been wrong. What if this wasn't Gordo?

Whoever he was, he was talking again. "I told them I couldn't cook, but they've agreed to let me come along anyway, so long as I help with what I can. I think you should come too, Lizzie. It might be the only way we have of getting home."

'Lizzie'? 'Home'? Her heart jumped, thudded against her chest. Did that mean he knew who she was?

"G-Gordo?" she asked, voice shaking. "Is that you?"

A smile flickered on the corner of his mouth. "Yeah, Liz. It's me."

"Oh, thank God!" she cried, nearly tripping over her skirts as she rushed at him. His arms came up a moment after hers had clinched around him, holding tight as she buried her nose into his shoulder. "I'm so glad you're here, Gordo."

Before he could reply, Tudgeman's twin clapped his hands, exclaiming, "You are acquainted? Splendid!" Lizzie reluctantly released Gordo, feeling his own grip drop away. Together they turned to face the brothers. "You will, of course, travel with us now. I'm sure if you are lost as Sir Gordo is, we can help both of you as easily as one."

"Yes, yes, travel with us," urged a brother in white.

"You don't have to cook." Yellow again.

"We'll _teach_ you to cook!" a brother in purple offered.

Then all of them fell to pleas and whines and big, eager eyes. Lizzie looked over at Gordo, saw his faint grin and the questioning tilt to his eyebrows, and nodded. If Gordo was going, so was she.

Immediately, everyone was laughing, hooraying, slapping one another on the back.

"Wonderful!" the Tudgeman brother cheered. "Then let us continue walking. I shall tell you all about our quest and you shall tell us all about you! Firstly, let me introduce myself. I am Saturday, the youngest of my brothers. We are all named for days of the week, you see, with my eldest brother—he's the one in violet—named Sunday. And that one, over there in yellow, is Monday. He's the second eldest..."

*********#######*********

"We're in a fairy tale, Lizzie," Gordo announced some time after blue brother Wednesday had pulled a large loaf of bread and a lump of cheese from a tiny pocket on his tunic. Saturday had finished his explanation of the brothers' quest some hours ago, and having answered all his questions, Lizzie and Gordo were allowed to drift to the back of the group. Struggling to keep up with the others despite shorter legs, and in Lizzie's case far more skirt than she was used to, the two were at least able to talk about the current, er, predicament.

Swallowing her last bite of cheese and bread, Lizzie squeaked, "A fairy tale?" She wanted to say she didn't believe Gordo, but Saturday _had_ caught her one-handed and then there was Wednesday's quaint little lunch-in-pocket trick. She'd seen it with her own eyes. Denying that was as useful as denying they were walking in this forest. _This dream forest? _ She frowned. Okay. Bad example. "Are you saying this has something to do with that project we were working on?"

Gordo shrugged. "I don't know what I'm saying. All I know is that this is one of the fairy tales I read last night. Seven brothers on a quest to save a princess from an evil sorcerer. Each brother has a special gift—far-seeing spectacles, a sleep-inducing fiddle, the ability to pick anyone's pocket, I knew all of them before they even told me!"

Lizzie drew a long breath, wrenching her skirts up higher as she stepped over a fallen log. They walked a few more steps before she finally said, "So this isn't a dream." It was barely a whisper. "I was hoping this was just a dream and I could wake up."

Gordo didn't answer immediately, and Lizzie could feel his gaze on her, though she didn't turn to meet it. "It might be a dream, Lizzie—"

Lizzie shook her head. "No. No, if this were a dream, then I wouldn't be here. I never read this fairy tale. So if this is a dream, then it's only your dream, and I'm afraid I've got too many of my own thoughts to agree with that idea."

"Maybe it's a shared dream?" Gordo offered.

She snorted. "Like a mind-meld? I don't think so."

"Was that 'mind-meld' I heard come out of your mouth?" Gordo laughed. "Did Elizabeth McGuire actually make a Star Trek reference? Tudgeman would be so proud."

Despite herself, she felt a smile tugging at her mouth. "I like Star Trek," she grudgingly admitted. "Not the old ones, only Next Gen."

"And you call them 'Next Gen'!" Gordo crowed, jumping up and down as he walked. "Why, Liz, you Trekkie, you!"

He was insufferable. Eyes narrowing, Lizzie turned and stopped walking. "Maybe this really is a mind-meld. Maybe this isn't stuff from my head at all. Maybe it's all you, David Gordon, infusing my mind, filling it with sci-fi nonsense!"

Gordo laid gentle fingers along the sides of her face. "My mind to your mind," he intoned, then laughed as he continued walking. "And you love that sci-fi nonsense, admit it," he tossed over his shoulder. Growling, Lizzie balled her skirts into her arms and ran to catch up.

They walked in silence for a few more minutes before Gordo spoke again, "No, this can't be a shared dream." There was something in his tone that made Lizzie look up. His brow was furrowed, mouth drawn down. "I mean, I don't know a whole lot about the phenomenon, but I think to share a dream your minds have to be pretty close. After last night, I think yours was a galaxy away from mine."

Lizzie stumbled a little at the mention of their fight. Since she'd woken up in this place, she hadn't had more than a moment's worth of thought about it—at first because she'd been too confused and then because she was so happy to see him. But it was there, in her mind, now, somehow fresh and raw and at the same time old, as if they'd fought months ago.

She didn't know what to say. Should she apologize? Wait for him to apologize? She certainly wasn't ready to talk about what had been bothering her lately. At the thought of it, a dim echo of the anger flushed her face. No. She definitely didn't want to explain. At last she settled on, "Yes. We were pretty distant last night."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him nod. "Okay. So no shared dream. What does that leave? A bubble universe?"

"A _what?_"

Gordo chuckled. "A bubble universe." Lizzie turned to see him scrub a hand through his hair. "Wow. Never really thought I'd be in the position to actually explain it." His mouth settled into a rueful line. "Um. This is much more Jon and Larry's area than mine. I was just listening in on them one day. Let me see." He paused and Lizzie recognized the concentrated fold to his forehead. A smile itched at her lips; for as long as she could remember, she'd loved listening to his mind work itself through an idea.

At last he cleared his throat and brought his hands palm-to-palm, fingers steepled. "Well, there are actually several variations on the bubble universe theme. At its most basic, it's the idea that, somehow in the creation of, well, everything, many universes were created—ours only one of them. Some of these universes would be very close to our own, with similar physics, similar particles, similar existence, while others would be vastly different and thus either filled with a very foreign sort of life or incapable of supporting life at all. The universes would probably also have a different flow of time, some running faster in comparison to ours, some running slower.

"The reason they call them bubble universes is because you can conceptualize each universe as a soap bubble, floating among other soap bubble universes in some...netherplane. Some people theorize that the soap bubbles could collide or that wormholes might connect them, allowing people to transport between them."

Lizzie nodded. "So you're saying that," she snorted a laugh, "that, somehow, we've managed to fall through a wormhole or something to this universe." It was kind of a cool idea, but...well, how absurd was it that they were trapped in a _fairy tale _universe?

"Possibly," Gordo shrugged. "I mean, most of this is _really _theoretical. And then, of course, what are the chances that only you and I found our way here? And why _here?_ Why not just another universe where, I don't know, you and I never met o-or live in the Bronze Age or something. It's pretty damn coincidental, if you ask me."

"Divine intervention?" Lizzie offered.

"It's as good a theory as any I've come up with." He sighed. "I guess in the meantime, we just go with the flow—"

"—And keep an eye out for wormholes!" Lizzie cast a smirk in his direction, waited for his answering smile before throwing her arms wide and calling, "Let us boldly go where no eleventh graders have gone before!" The moment was rather spoiled as she tripped over the hem of her dress. She growled as Gordo caught her arm and helped her regain her feet. "I hate these things!" She gave the skirts a furious shake. "As soon as I find what passes for an outlet mall in this blasted forest, I'm buyin' some decent pants!"

Gordo laughed. "Aw," he said, helping her over a moss-slick cluster of rocks, "I kinda like the dress. You're quite the medieval princess in it—Tudgeman would be in Middle Earth heaven if he were here."

It was Lizzie's turn to laugh. "Have I told you how very, _very _glad I am that _you're _the one here, Gordo?" Still, the compliment warmed her, and as her feet met earth again and Gordo relinquished his hold on her elbow, she had to admit there was something about this place, about his clothes and that longer hair, that suited him as much as, if not more than, Tudgeman.

******  
end of chapter 5**

**chapter notes:  
**I didn't delve too deeply into bubble universe mechanics, but if you're curious, here's where I found my little bit of info: w w w (dot) reocities (dot) com (slash) capecanaveral (slash) hangar (slash) 6929 (slash) h_kaku2 (dot) h t m l


	6. Pendulum

_Thanks to all my reviewers! I was a little nervous I'd scare some of you off with that last chapter, so it was great to hear from you. **pixievix,** I'm delighted you like the fairytale land thing; this is more my cuppa tea than other parts I was writing, so I'm enjoying it quite a bit too. :D And yes, **Kat**, Lizzie is acting human again...but I guess we'll see how long that lasts! ::evil snicker:: And, **mel**, I hope this update was soon enough...and that you still think it's creative and unique. Thanks!_

_And now on to chapter six...._

**Chapter 6: Pendulum**

They walked all day at the same swift, steady pace, only stopping shortly before sundown in a small clearing that Sunday deemed "adequate."  By then, Lizzie's entire body ached, her feet and hips points of sharp pain, and she found herself struggling to keep her eyes open.

Just as she was about to lower herself to the grass near where Wednesday and white brother Friday were clearing the ground for a fire, she heard Saturday give a cheerful halloo.  "I have just the task for you!"  The energy in his voice made her cringe, and she looked up, expecting to see him charging across the clearing toward her.  And he was, arms filled with what looked like several more of the waterskin she'd been drinking out of all day.  But instead of meeting her gaze, his eyes were fixed on someone behind her.

"Here, Sir Gordo," he chirped, walking right past her, "one of our simpler tasks for a new traveler like yourself!  Just a short distance into those woods over there," Lizzie turned to see Saturday pointing across the clearing, "Sunday spotted a stream with his spectacles.  Fill these up for us, there's a good man!"  And then the waterskins were in Gordo's arms, Saturday giving a brilliant smile before tromping back the way he came.  He paused a mere moment to bow to Lizzie, saying, "Resting, I see, my dear lady!  Splendid!  Travel is hard work, my mum always used to say!"  A few of the other brothers nodded in agreement, then promptly returned to their tasks.

Lizzie turned back to Gordo, not surprised to see his mouth hanging open as he stared at Saturday's receding back.  After a long moment, he blinked dazed eyes and looked to Lizzie, mouth curving in a way more tired than wry.

"I guess sexism is still a problem in these here parts," he drawled.

Lizzie met his smile and tottered over, her knees shaky now that she'd been standing still.  "Nice to know some things never change, I guess.  But come on, let's fill these things."  She plucked a few skins from the top of his pile.

"You're coming with me?"  His voice was noticeably brighter as he turned in the direction Saturday had indicated.

"Heh.  What are friends for?  Besides, if there's cold water, I am _there_."

"Thirsty, McGuire?"

She snorted, shuffling along behind him.  "That too.  No, I was thinking more along the lines of tossing my whole aching body in.  You'll probably have to drag me out."

"Oooh."  Gordo waggled his eyebrows over his shoulder at her.  "You really think so?"

Lizzie felt her own eyebrows crawling up her forehead.  He must be tired.  Not that he didn't ever say things like that—he was a guy, a teenage guy—but usually he reserved the innuendos for when other guys were around...and _never _had he aimed them at her.

Apparently, something along the same lines had occurred to Gordo.  He dropped back to walk alongside her, offered a sheepish smile.  "Sorry.  I must be a lot more exhausted than I thought."

She laughed it off, butting her shoulder against his lightly.  "No kidding, my friend—look who you were teasin' about!  Only me!"  She slid a glance his way, expecting a laugh.  Instead he wore that incredulous glower she remembered so well from middle school.

"What?" he scoffed.  "You don't think guys think of you that way?"

Lizzie blinked.  "What way?"  Did she miss the conversation detour sign?

"Well, you know...."  Gordo frowned, flustered.  "Like, l-like _that_."  He tried to give an emphatic gesture without dropping the waterskins.

It took Lizzie a moment to interpret, then she laughed.  "Wow.  We really don't talk about this much, do we?"  Gordo rolled his eyes, muttered something.  "What?"

"What?"  He looked startled.  "Oh, uh, I just said," he licked his lips, "I just, uh, said, 'well, it's the season!'" Lizzie stared at him, confused.  "Spring," he clarified, "you know, season of the birds and the bees, love, all that fun, er, stuff.  Spring," he repeated, clearing his throat.

"Oh."  Ooookay.  "I guess, yeah.  But to answer your question...."  She thought about it.  "...Yeah, I guess I kinda thought guys thought of me that way.  But, well, I just figured that was a guy thing—how guys just think of, like, all girls that way.  Not that I was special or anything."

He shook his head.  "First of all, most guys don't think of _all _girls that way, Lizzie.  I mean, some of them do, definitely, but the rest of us just think about, well, the hot girls."

Lizzie raised an eyebrow.  "'The hot girls'?" she repeated.  "Gee, that makes me feel better.  Some of you have equal-opportunity imaginations, while the rest of you only fantasize about the _hot girls_."

"Gimme a break, Liz!"  Gordo tossed his head back.  "It's not as simple as it sounds, okay?  Some guys think one kind of girl is hot, while other guys go for another kind of girl.  I'm just saying that if guys think about you like, well, _that_, it's because they think you're hot, okay?  I meant it as a compliment, that you shouldn't be surprised that there are lots of guys who think you're beautiful.  Oy!" he muttered, "no wonder we never talk about this!"

Lizzie watched as he stepped up his pace a little, pulling ahead of her.  In the remaining daylight, it almost looked like he was blushing.  She crooked her arm clumsily around the waterskins to press a hand to her own warm cheek.  Yeah, there were probably very good reasons for why they didn't discuss the whole boy-girl thing—the incredible awkwardness they were feeling perhaps one of them—but she couldn't help smiling.

"Gordo," she called, trying to quicken her steps.  He cast a brief glance at her.  "Thank you.  And I'm sorry."  He nodded but didn't slow down.  "And, uh, if you want, feel free to tell any of those guys they can ask me out."

He gave a short laugh, stopping altogether until Lizzie caught up with him.  Then, slinging one arm around her shoulder despite the waterskins, he said, "Ha!  Like I'm gonna let _anyone _who thinks you're hot ask you out!"

She elbowed him in the side.  "Gordo!" she protested.  "Who else do you thinkis gonna ask me out?!"

Gordo appeared to mull this over, wrinkling his forehead and folding his mouth into an exaggerated frown.  "Uhhh.  No one.  No one will ask you out—except your friends, of course, but only because they pity your utter datelessness."  He cackled.  "I should tell your dad this.  I think a payment of, oh, say, a half a million dollars should cover all the heartburn and late nights I've saved him...not to mention ammunition for that shotgun of his."

Lizzie glared.  "And I think your half a million dollars would be best put to use taking me out for the rest of our lives, since, after all, I won't have anyone else to do it."

But Gordo only smiled, squeezed her shoulders.  "Sounds like a plan to me."  He released her to gesture ahead of him.  "But for now, princess-lady, your bath awaits."  Lizzie looked up and there, glimmering through the trees, was a small brook.  "Doesn't look quite deep enough to swim around in," Gordo said, "but you can probably soak your feet at least.  Just keep 'em downstream while I'm filling these things."

But Lizzie barely heard, wide eyes fixed on all that lovely water.  The closer they came, the dirtier her skin felt, covered in sweat and dust kicked up by the tramp through the forest.  The brook _was _too shallow to swim in, but perhaps she could at least wash her face.  As they passed the last of the trees on its bank, she turned a sweet smile on Gordo, placed the waterskins she'd taken back on his pile, and fairly flew the last few feet.

The brook ran swift, burbling over a rocky bed, the water clear with a pale brown tint—probably from tannic plants further upstream.  Not that she knew much about forest streams, but this one seemed pretty decent.  Hitching her skirts above her ankles, she struggled out of one maroon slipper and dipped her toes into the water.  It was blessedly cold and she immediately knelt on the edge of the stream, tucking her dress close along her legs before bending to splash water on her face.  Gordo had by then settled a short distance away, and she could hear him grousing under his breath as he wrestled to fill one of the waterskins.

Slowly, one by one, his pile of empty skins was replaced with an uneven lump of fat, full ones.  In the growing dark they looked almost like animals, drowsing and sated from some feast.  Lizzie, knee-deep in the brook and rather drowsy and content herself, couldn't help the giggle that escaped at the sight.

"What's up, McGuire?" Gordo asked from where he lay, wrist over his eyes, boots off, trousers rolled, also knee-deep in the water.

"Nothing, Gordo.  I'm just really tired, that's all."

He grunted.  "Probably means we should head back to the clearing, huh?  Before we fall asleep right here."  But he didn't move.

Neither did she.  "Yeah.  Probably."  Silence again fell between them, and Lizzie found herself listening to the gurgle of the water, the rising chirp and buzz of the night insects.  Daylight had completely faded by now, but the moon was a bright sliver overhead, and it cast everything in a pale greenish glow.

"Hey, Gordo," she whispered.  He hummed.  "There's only one moon.  D'you think that's weird, seeing as this is a bubble universe and all?"

His wrist slid off his face, eyes blinking up at the sky.  "I don't know, Liz.  Maybe."  He eased up to his elbows, smiled a little.  "But for all we know, that moon's not really a chunk of rock in orbit, after all.  Maybe it's really some lost god or goddess or the home of really ugly trolls or something.  I honestly couldn't even guess."

Lizzie snickered, kicking her feet in the water.  "It's sorta fun, you know, being here, where you're just as clueless about this place as I am."

Gordo sighed, sitting up the rest of the way.  "Eh, there's a lot of stuff I'm clueless about back home," he muttered, then groaned as he pulled his feet out of the water.

Lizzie too eased out of the brook, standing quickly to twitch her skirts around her legs before the breeze could find them.  "Still," she said, eyes fixed on the ground as she tried to dry her feet in the grass, "you know a lot more than me, and, I don't know, it's nice to be able to figure this out with you."  She glanced up to meet his eyes briefly, feeling awkward though she couldn't quite understand why.  "Don't get me wrong, I'm glad you know more than me—really.  I mean, that's why I can always talk to you about stuff.  But this is a nice change, you know?"

Her eyes had fallen away from his as she pulled her slippers on, and when she looked up again he was frowning, his gaze on her yet somehow distant.  She watched, wondering if he'd really even heard her, but then his eyes focused again, hard under his drawn brows.  He exhaled loudly, opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, orange brother Tuesday came barreling out of the forest.

"There you are, Lady Lizzie!" he called, a great smile blooming on his face.  "My brothers and I were worried where you'd run off to!  Dinner's almost ready, you know, and you did promise to be our mum while we traveled!"  Actually, as far as Lizzie remembered, she hadn't promised any such thing, but Tuesday seemed determined to bring his mum along somehow.

"Ah, yes."  She gave a little curtsy.  "Well, G—Sir Gordo and I were just resting after we filled the waterskins."

Tuesday looked chagrined.  "Oh, of course!  Of course, you're probably exhausted, trotting along with us all day."  He leaned down and swept all the full waterskins into his arms.  "Let us get you back to the fire, where you can eat and then go right to sleep.  Don't worry about playing mum tonight, Lady Lizzie!"

"Thanks," Lizzie said, allowing him to usher her in front of him.  The whole way back to the campsite, he pointed out branches and rocks and patches of "precipitous moss," his face so concerned that, had his arms not already been full of waterskins, she was certain he would have tried to carry her.  She could just imagine the dry smirk she'd find on Gordo's face should that happen.

Fighting back a snicker, she turned to share the joke as soon as they reached the clearing, but Gordo didn't look at all amenable.  He was still scowling, shoulders rigid, the muscles around his jaw bunched tight.  He looked...angry.

She mumbled thanks as red brother Thursday handed her some cheese, this time accompanied by hot flatbread, and nodded as Saturday cheerfully explained that they should reach the evil sorcerer's castle by midday tomorrow.  But the rest of the brothers' conversation faded away.  Why was Gordo angry?  Had she said something?  She thought back over her words....

All she'd said was she was glad he was there with her.  And that she was glad she could always talk to him.

Was that it?  Was he upset because she _hadn't _been talking to him lately?  Her eyes narrowed.  Geez, here they were in some freaking bubble universe and he couldn't forget about that fight, even for a little bit?  She'd been complimenting him, for heaven's sake, and now he was angry because she didn't want to talk to him?  Her skin flushed hot.  Like he'd even been talking to _her _about the important stuff lately!  UCLA summer program, anyone?

And did he think sulking would get her to talk to him about it?  About anything?  No, if he wanted to talk about something, he'd have to come right out and say it.  No sly, subtle schemes to worm a confession out of her!  And if he was going to be childish and let their fight stand in the way of working together to get home...well, she'd have to be the adult.  _She _wouldn't get angry at the drop of a hat.  _She _wouldn't go off pouting and refusing to talk to him.

Swallowing the last bite of dinner, she shot a glare at Gordo across the fire.  He wasn't looking at her, frowning into the flames as the brothers chatted around him.  He wasn't even participating in the conversation!  Here were these great people offering them help and Gordo wouldn't even talk to them!  Rolling her eyes, she turned away from him and bent toward Thursday.

As soon as the brother explained the sleeping arrangements, Lizzie removed herself a short distance from the circle around the fire.  Folding the maroon skirt to lie under her head, she curled up, turned her mind and her face resolutely from Gordo, and was asleep almost instantly.

  
*********#######*********

By the time the sun and the brothers' low, cheerful murmurs woke her, Lizzie was more than ready to wake up.  Her sleep had been anything but restful.  All night she'd swung between surfacing into awareness at every pang of her sore body and spiraling dizzy into the dark depths of sleep, where odd, jarring dreams reigned.  Blinking away the faint dregs of angry dwarves and red swiss cheese walls that flickered on her eyelids, she squinted into the morning light and eased herself up.  Every muscle twinged protest.

"Oof," she groaned, wincing as her neck gave a particularly obnoxious crack.  There was no way she would be able to walk today.  At all.

"You look as bad as I feel, McGuire," came Gordo's voice from her left.  She looked over to see him sitting a short distance away, contorting his shoulders into strange angles, shadowed smudges under his eyes.  She had a moment to register he was probably right, then the anger and irritation from the night before flooded in.

What, now he was going to act as though nothing was wrong?  As though he hadn't been throwing a little tantrum last night?  Right.  And they said _girls _were moody.  He was a freaking pendulum!  And as far as she was concerned, he could go right on swinging.  _She _wasn't about to forget his behavior so soon!

"Dirk," she muttered low, scowling as she heaved her aching joints up and stumbled over to where some of the brothers were preparing breakfast.

"Lady Lizzie," Saturday greeted, "I trust you slept well."  She was saved the trouble of replying as he handed her a piece of flatbread wrapped around some dark blue berries.  "Here is your breakfast, my lady, and you can thank Thursday for the berries.  He's quite the naturalist, you know."

Lizzie glanced over to see Thursday blushing nearly as red as his tunic.  "Thank you," she smiled.

"Oh, no trouble, no trouble," he stammered.  "Nanny was always showing me around her garden when I was young.  I guess plants just stick in my head."  He ducked his head shyly.  "If you'd like," he mumbled, "you can walk with me today.  I'd love to teach you about any plants we pass.  A-and since you're a new traveler, maybe you don't know much about plants."

Lizzie's smile widened.  Considering she had no idea how long they'd be here, plant lessons were very appealing—as was the idea that perhaps she and Thursday might travel at a slightly slower pace than the other brothers.  Not to mention it would provide her a perfect excuse to avoid Gordo.  "You're right, Thursday," she said.  "I really don't know much about plants.  And I'd be honored to walk with you today."

A grin split Thursday's red cheeks, grateful praise stumbling out of his mouth as a few of his brothers clapped him on the back.  Lizzie merely kept smiling and began eating her breakfast, trying to ignore Gordo as he sat down beside her.  Suddenly, she was very impatient to start walking.

And soon enough, they did, Sunday in the lead and Lizzie and Thursday quickly falling behind.  For a while, Gordo drifted near them, forehead wrinkled as he listened, but shortly after they started out, Saturday dropped back to join him, his quickening pace and rapid tongue leading Gordo further and further away until he too was a distant blotch.

By then, though, Lizzie barely noticed.  Thursday was a very good teacher, swift to point out the particular characteristics of a tree or a shrub or an herb, concise in his explanation of its uses or its dangers.  Not long into her freshman year, Lizzie had discovered a knack for memorizing such things, and she was thrilled at the ease with which she grasped the red brother's lessons.  By midmorning, they were moving much faster, Thursday quizzing her more than he stopped to teach.

At their quicker pace, they managed to catch up with the others just as Sunday was calling them to a halt.  Instructing Wednesday to share out some of the bread and cheese for lunch, he cleared his throat and pointed through the trees.

"There," he declared, "that is where the princess is held captive by the sorcerer."  Lizzie followed his finger, startled to glimpse far-off fragments of a great stone structure amid the green and sunlight.  Of course, Saturday had said last night that they should reach their destination by midday—and both she and Thursday had noted the thinning of the forest as they walked—but the...fortress...was much bigger and much closer than she'd expected.

Gordo was apparently thinking the same thing.  "Wow," he breathed from beside her.  Surprised to find him so near, her eyes jumped to his.  "This is incredible," he whispered with a brilliant grin.  For a moment, her own mouth curved in echo, his excitement drawing her along, but then she remembered she was angry at him.  Dipping her chin in a short nod, she turned away, flashing her growing smile on Wednesday instead as he handed her a chunk each of bread and cheese.

Biting into her lunch, she leaned against a tree trunk, her back to Gordo as she faced the brothers.  Sunday propped one leg on a stump, puffed his chest with a deep breath, and announced, "Eat quickly, brothers!  As soon as we have dined, we shall set forth for the fortress!"  The brothers immediately began nodding and chewing faster, and Lizzie found herself doing the same.  They were going to a _fortress_—to that huge thing beyond the trees!  She'd seen pictures of castles and fortresses before, but she'd never seen one up close and she'd certainly never been inside one.  Would this one have a portcullis or a drawbridge or—what were those things along the walls called?  Machicolations?  This was so _incre_—

"Are all of us going?"  Gordo's voice interrupted her thoughts.  She turned an irritated frown his way.  He didn't even seem to notice it, gaze fixed on someone behind her, probably Sunday.

"W-well, yes," the eldest brother stammered, obviously caught off guard.  "I had intended so."

Gordo shook his head.  "I don't think that's a good idea."

"_What?_"  The question leapt off Lizzie's tongue louder than she'd intended, and she blushed as everyone's eyes shifted to her.  "Sorry," she mumbled.

Gordo just blinked and calmly looked back to Sunday—no doubt well-used to _such outbursts_ from her, Lizzie thought sourly.  "Do you have a plan on how to rescue the princess?" he asked.

"U-uh, no, no plan," Sunday admitted.

"Right," Gordo nodded.  "But you and your brothers work well as a team, each of you with your own special gift.  But Li-Lady Lizzie and I, we don't have any such ability.  You're going in blind, not sure what's up there waiting for you.  With your speed, your teamwork, and your gifts, you stand a chance of rescuing the princess.  Lady Lizzie and I can't bring anything to your group and, frankly, we'd just slow you down.  We're still sore from traveling all day yesterday."  He paused, eyes flicking around the circle.  "It's not that I don't want to go—I'd love to—I just think you'll do better if Lady Lizzie and I stay here."

Lizzie looked to Sunday, chagrined to find a pensive frown creasing his forehead.  The other brothers wore similar expressions, seeming to consider Gordo's proposal just as seriously.  Lizzie licked dry lips, reaching for some counter argument, some reason to refute Gordo's words, to show the brothers they needed to let her come along.  But she had nothing.  Gordo had made very good points—_as usual_—and if she were to argue against them, she'd merely look selfish, putting her curiosity above the quest.  Damn him.  Her anger notched up another degree.

At last, Sunday spoke.  "Yes," he sighed.  "I do believe you are right.  This is our quest—my brothers' and mine.  Stay here, Sir Gordo and Lady Lizzie.  Wednesday will furnish you with some food, and if all goes well, we shall return here by nightfall with the princess."  The brothers nodded their agreement, and Lizzie sagged a little against the tree at her back.  She hadn't expected them to decide otherwise, but it was still disappointing to hear the words spoken.

Thursday reached over to squeeze her shoulder.  "Don't worry, Lady Lizzie.  I shall tell you all about it when we return."  She gave him a wan smile, patted his hand, and murmured her thanks.  Well, if the brothers truly thought they'd be safer without two extra travelers along, then...so be it.  She wouldn't want anyone hurt because of her, especially not when they'd been so kind.

Before she knew it, they were moving again, Lizzie and Gordo walking only as far as the edge of the forest.  Then the brothers were gone, hiking across a grassy plain and growing smaller and smaller every moment.

Lizzie settled cross-legged on a wide, fallen tree trunk to watch them go, determined to ignore Gordo's presence.

For a while, it worked.  Then shortly after the brothers dwindled to mere spots on the landscape, Gordo seated himself on the log beside her.  He mirrored her position, even down to the way she was leaning her chin on one palm, elbow propped on a knee.

"Sooo," he drawled, "didja have fun with Thursday today?"

Lizzie scowled at the field in front of them, trying not to let him goad her into shifting position.  She knew from years and years of experience, most of them in elementary school, that he'd just mimic the new one too.

"Yes," she grunted.

"Learn all kinds of new things?"

"Yes."

"Enjoy your stroll through nature?"

"Yes."

"Work off some of your anger?"

"Y—"  She caught herself just in time, then glared at Gordo.  "What?"

He chuckled, leaned back to cross his arms over his chest.  "You just seemed angry this morning, that's all."

"I wasn't angry."  She didn't need his raised eyebrows to tell her he knew she was lying.  "All right, so I was angry," she conceded.  "But you were angry first."

He laughed again.  "I was angry first?" he repeated incredulously.  "Apart from the fact that I don't see what that has to do with _your _anger, when was I angry?"

She flushed, uncurling her legs to tuck them carefully against her chest under her skirts.  "Last night," she muttered, trying to hold onto her reasoning.  When he put it like that, it did sound rather stupid.  "At the brook and after Tuesday walked us back to the campsite."

Gordo's eyes went distant, dropping to the log.  After a long moment, he looked up again, eyes bright above a rueful grin.  "I wasn't angry, Liz," he said.

What?  She felt her jaw go slack.  "What?  Well, you sure seemed like it!"  She folded her arms around her knees.  "I thought you were angry at me because of that fight we had in my room at home.  And then this morning, you acted like everything was fine.  And I got angry because—"  She stopped.  Why _had _she gotten angry?  She thought back...something about a pendulum...?  It didn't make sense.  "Oy," she groaned.  "I don't know."  Her cheeks grew hot.  "Oy," she moaned again, covering her face.

"Hey, Liz," Gordo murmured, tugging on her hands.  She fought him, but eventually he managed to pull them down, his own hands curling around hers and squeezing tight.  "Liz," he said, "it's okay, really."  She only shook her head, refusing to look at him.  "C'mon, Liz.  Look at me."

She shook her head again, muttering, "I feel like an idiot."  A moody, unreasonable, childish idiot.  She tried to think back over the last day, tried to remember what had been running through her head, but all she could recall was emotion—excitement, fear, worry, joy, contentment, frustration, anger, indignation.  "_I'm_ the freaking pendulum!" she grumbled, more to herself than to Gordo.

He laughed anyway.  "What?" he asked.  "You're a pendulum?"  His voice was so kind, so confused, she couldn't help but laugh too, appalled when her eyes grew blurry at the same time.  She sniffled through the next chuckle, and as she looked up at her best friend, the tears broke free of her eyelids in hot trails along her nose.  She tried to draw her hands free of his to brush her face, but he wouldn't let go, his hands rising with hers as she settled on dabbing her nose with her sleeve.

"I'm such a mess," she said, the words thick as she swallowed.

Gordo rolled his eyes, shook his head.  "You are not."  A smile crooked his mouth.  "I mean, yeah, if we were at home, I think you'd be a mess."  She giggled a little, and he clenched his hands around hers again.  "But, Liz, we're in a very strange place, very far from home, with some _very _strange people.  It's only natural that you'd feel a little at sea.  I'm here, and that's something familiar, but I'm sure it doesn't help that shortly before we...arrived...here...we had one humdinger of a fight."  He inched closer on the log.  "Something like that would be hard enough to sort out at home, but we're not home.  We're here, Liz.  It's okay to be a mess, all right?"

Lizzie sniffled again and nodded, dabbing at a few more tears.  "Still, I'm sorry," she said.

"It's okay."  He smiled at her for a moment, then looked down at their hands.  His thumbs swept across the tops of her fingers.  "Look," he said, voice raspy.  He cleared his throat, tried again.  "Look, we're tired, we're sore, we're far from home.  I think we can expect to be a little weird, okay?  But, listen," his eyes rose to hers, "we're all we've got here."  He licked his lips.  "But we can't be here for each other if we're angry or defensive."

He sighed, the sound seeming to come from deep in his chest.  "I don't know what to do about that fight, Liz," he admitted.  "I said some things and you said some things, but honestly, I don't know how many of those things I want to apologize for—or receive apologies about.  I—"  His eyes flicked sideways, a crease forming between his eyebrows.  "I can't seem to get my head around it, not enough to figure out what happened that night, what I was thinking.  It all feels very far away here, and until I can bring it closer, analyze it, I don't know what to say about it."  One hand released hers to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.  "I'm sorry I can't make that better, Lizzie.  But maybe if we resolve to talk about what's bothering us _here_—any concerns or frustrations or even irritations—we can avoid most of the weird stuff...at least until we get home."  A half-smile lit his face.  "How does that sound?"

His hand had dropped back to his lap, and Lizzie wrapped her free one around it.  He'd spoken in that all-reasonable tone that had helped her through many a crisis, his voice soothing even as parts of her tensed, anxious, at the mention of the fight.  Some deeper part of her recognized his honesty and the wisdom in his words, though, and at his question she found herself nodding.  "It sounds good, Gordo," she said, throat tight with leftover tears.  "I'll try to talk to you about stuff before it becomes some kind of huge...thing...like it did this morning."

He smiled.  "Good.  And I'll try and tell you what's actually on my mind instead of letting you just read it from my face."

She laughed a little, added, "And read it wrong."

"Eh.  So you aren't an expert on David Gordon face reading...."  Gordo shrugged.  "You're still more of an expert on the plants of this...place...than I am.  My plan to eavesdrop was a spectacular failure.  Tell me some of the stuff Thursday taught you."

Grinning, she released his hands, and did just that.

******  
end of chapter 6**


	7. Seven Brothers and a Princess

_Big thanks to my reviewers (again)! **MysteriouslyUnique **and **Kat**, I'm sorry this wasn't a swift update (the stuff I'm writing right now...several chapters ahead of this stuff...isn't going very fast, so I didn't want to post stuff too quickly for me to keep up with), but please keep up the encouragement! I can't tell you how much it helps. :) And, **pixievix **and **VaSinFlor**, I'm delighted you're enjoying the fantasy! I hope this chapter is up to snuff. :D_

**Chapter 7: Seven Brothers...and a Princess**

It was hours later by the time she'd finished repeating all of Thursday's lessons, and the sun was barely a half-circle on the horizon.  She and Gordo had resumed their places on the log, silent as they sat watching the plain before them for signs of the returning brothers.

"Do you think they're all right?" Lizzie asked softly, twisting to look at Gordo.  He glowed in the falling sunlight, skin gilded, amber filaments sparking in his hair, the forest behind him a honey-limned tapestry of sage and umber.

"Yes," Gordo said, saffron light gliding along his eyes, shining through stained glass irises as he turned to her.  "They're probably on their way back by now, I'd imagine, the princess with them."

"You think so?"

Gordo stretched, sighed.  "I know so.  Remember, I've read the fairy tale."

Actually, she hadn't remembered.  But if he knew the fairy tale....  "Can you tell me what's happened?"

A teasing smirk curved his mouth.  "And ruin Thursday's recitation?  Not for the world."

She rolled her eyes and smacked his shoulder.  "Gor-do," she whined.  "Come on.  Like we have anything else to do while we wait."

He laughed.  "Good point."  Looking back to the field, he frowned.  "Now, let me see.  Where are we in the story?  Seven brothers, already gone into the world, found their special gifts, gone looking for the princess....Ah, yes."  He cleared his throat.  "So the seven brothers walked and walked until at last they reached the sorcerer's fortress.  The door was locked and barred, but undaunted—and not having much other choice—they knocked anyway.  The door opened and they told the servant who answered that they were seven princes come to see the sorcerer.  But, alas, the sorcerer was too busy celebrating his marriage to the princess to see visitors.

"'We are just in time,' cried one of the brothers, 'as we are to play at his wedding feast!'  The servant, delighted, showed them into the great hall where the sorcerer, the princess, and all the wedding guests stood.  Monday immediately tucked his fiddle to his chin and played, sending everyone except the brothers into sleep—it was a magic, sleep-inducing fiddle, you see.  Tuesday, who had a gift for picking anyone's pocket, crept over to the sorcerer and plucked the sleeping princess right from his hand.  Into Wednesday's magic pocket she went, still sleeping, and the brothers slipped past the guards with no trouble, looking just the same as they went in.

"As the brothers traveled back to their campsite—and the guests awaiting them, though that's not in the story—the sorcerer awoke, realized his betrayal, and sent soldiers to capture the princess.  But Thursday heard them coming and pulled a tiny twig from his belt.  With a swish to and fro, the twig sent thousands of oak cudgels flying through the air to beat the soldiers.  At last, the soldiers turned back, but the sorcerer, enraged at their cowardice, turned himself into a vulture.

"By now, the princess, pulled from Wednesday's pocket, awoke, startled but very pleased to find herself away from the sorcerer.  But the sorcerer didn't stay away, flying after them to snatch the princess in his beak.  Friday, whose gift was deadly aim with his weapons, notched an arrow to his bow and shot the sorcerer dead.  The princess, loosened from the sorcerer's grip, tumbled down through the air only for Saturday to catch her in his left hand.  Their quest accomplished, they continued back to their campsite—"

"—And us," Lizzie finished, smiling.

"...Though that's not in the story."

She laughed.  "How did you remember all that?"

"It's a pretty easy story to remember," he shrugged, "especially when you find yourself living it."

"Well, you told it very well, Mr. Gordon.  Perhaps you have more of a talent for acting than you thought."

"Eh."  He gave a dismissive gesture.  "I like reciting things, but I think I'll leave the acting to the people who _don't _get stage fright."

"Oh, please," Lizzie scolded, wrinkling her nose.  "Like I didn't used to have stage fright."

"Ah, but we cured yours in a pretty spectacular fashion, Liz.  I think the likelihood of anyone mistaking _me _for an Italian pop star is rather slim.  So, alas and alack, I must remain behind the camera, directing.  A poor fate for the likes of me."

Lizzie narrowed her eyes.  "You just like to boss the rest of us around."

"Oh, yeah!" Gordo agreed, punching a fist in the air.

Snickering, Lizzie rolled her eyes and looked out on the field again.  The sun had disappeared behind the horizon now, leaving only a fiery glow to fight the deepening lapis of the sky.

"Do you think we should start a fire?" she asked after a quiet minute.

"No," he answered.  "It might call unwanted attention...and I don't know how to make one without matches.  Do you?"

Lizzie frowned; she hadn't thought of that.  "No."

"Too bad Matt's not here."  Startled, Lizzie glanced over to see Gordo smiling.  "He knows how to make a fire, I believe."

"Really?"  She hadn't known that.  "Did he show you?"

"I wish," he huffed.  "If he'd shown me, I might be able to do it.  No, I just happened upon him about a year ago—he and, uh, Melina, were experimenting with different kinds of combustibles, trying to figure out which ones caught fire faster.  Unfortunately, they were doing more arguing than experimenting."

"Yeah, Melina's—" A high-pitched screech cut her off, echoing across the fields in front of them.  Lizzie turned and saw a giant black silhouette of a bird rising from the outline of the fortress.  It flew toward them, growing larger and larger, then dipped into shadow.  Mouth open, she scanned the dim plain for it, then jumped when it surfaced into light again, something hanging from its beak.  "Bloody hell," she muttered.

"No kidding," Gordo agreed.  They both watched as suddenly the bird reeled in air, wings drooping, beak opening to release a very human-shaped shadow.  Both bird and princess pinwheeled down, once more disappearing into darkness.

"Bloody hell," Lizzie repeated through clenched teeth.  "Do you think Saturday caught her?"  She twisted to see Gordo nodding.

"I'm sure he did," he rasped.  "I mean, the rest of the story went as planned."

True.  Still, she'd rather like to see for herself.  "Do you think they'll be here soon?"

Gordo was still staring, wide-eyed, at the field.  "Yeah.  Yeah.  I'm sure it'll be soon."  Not exactly reassured, Lizzie merely sighed and settled in to wait.

A little after night had well and truly fallen, she heard voices, faint and indecipherable, but definite voices.  Sitting up straighter, she strained her ears toward the sound.

"Well...spectacles...first...."  She could only catch a few words, but that was Sunday, without doubt.  Hopping off the log, she started picking her way toward him, glancing back to see Gordo following.

Slowly, the voices grew distinct.

"And I still say that if I hadn't put them all to sleep, we could never have wrested the princess from the evil sorcerer's hands!"  That was Monday.

"I am delighted that you mention hands, dear brother," came Tuesday's voice, "for had I not plucked the princess so carefully from the _sorcerer's_ hands, your fiddle would not have mattered."

"And had I not hid her in my pocket, we should not have escaped the fortress!"  Wednesday, of course.

Lizzie turned to Gordo.  "They're fighting?" she asked.

He nodded, whispering, "That's part of the story too.  Only one of them can marry the princess, but none of them could have saved her alone."

She snorted.  "Typical fairy tale logic."  Gordo only shrugged.

Saturday was speaking.  "—we are fools, brothers!  All this way we have argued, when we promised our father we should always be friends.  There is no solution here!  Let us not argue when we have succeeded so well in our quest."

The brothers fell silent and Lizzie stumbled on blindly toward where they seemed to be, relieved as, at last, they came into view in the moonlit dark.  Sunday walked in the front, Tuesday and Thursday flanking him.  Over their shoulders, she could make out the rest of the brothers—all scowling—and a woman, dressed in what looked like a beaded white gown, dark hair piled in curls on her head.  Lizzie squinted to get a better look, realizing who it was just as Gordo started laughing.

The brothers looked up at the sound of his laughter, and she heard Thursday shout a greeting, the others cheerfully echoing it.  But Lizzie didn't move, mouth open as she stared at the...princess.

It was Am.  Amaryllis Smith.

"No.  Way," she muttered, just before the brothers surrounded them, all trying to explain the day's events at once.  Lizzie didn't pay them any mind, focused completely on Am.

"Who are you?" she asked bluntly into a moment's pause in the conversation.

Am smiled, face luminous in the moonlight.  "I am Princess Lily.  Your friends have kindly saved me from a fate very much worse than death."  Her voice was Am's but somehow...sweeter.  Gordo was snickering again.

"Uh, nice to meet you, Princess Lily," Lizzie stammered.  "I'm, uh, Lady Lizzie."

"Sir Gordo," Gordo introduced himself, grinning madly as he waved at the princess.

Am—er, Lily gave a deep curtsy.  "I am ever so glad to make your acquaintance.  Prince Saturday was telling me all about you."  She batted unbelievably long lashes at Saturday, and Gordo, who had regained some control over himself, coughed and snorted, obviously trying to hold his laughter back again.

"Would you _stop _laughing!" Lizzie hissed at him, confused and growing more annoyed every moment.  Why did the princess look like Am?  And why on earth was Gordo laughing?  Shouldn't he be just as confused as she was?

"S-sorry," Gordo hiccupped.  "It's just, it's just s-so perfect!"

Before Lizzie could ask what precisely he meant by _that_, Saturday spoke up.  "As you see, Lady Lizzie, Sir Gordo, we have been successful in our quest.  Now all that remains is to pick who shall marry Princess Lily."

Gordo coughed, cleared his throat, and managed to stop laughing long enough to choke out, "Why don't you let the princess decide?  Perhaps she doesn't want to marry any of you."

Lizzie scowled at him and muttered, "What, you think she'd rather marry _you_?"  As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she realized the truth in them.  The scowl fell from her face, panic cold in her stomach.  If Lily was anything like Am.... Well, Am sure seemed to prefer Gordo over any other guys she knew: no reason why that should change now.  Bloody hell.  What if Lily _did _want to marry Gordo?  How would they get home?  Bloody hell.

Lily was smiling at Gordo—it was Am's smile, even down to the sly, conspiratorial twinkle in her eyes.  "Thank you, Sir Gordo," she said, voice chiming like music.  Was that a princess thing, Lizzie wondered.  Were they all born with delicate, shimmering, melodious voices?  The scowl was back, this time aimed at Lily.  "I should like to choose my husband."  Her pale eyes lit on every brother.  "It took every one of you to save me, every one of your marvelous gifts, but if it had not been for Saturday, I should have died even as I was freed.  So, with your blessing, I would marry Saturday."

With that, Lily wrapped her arms around Saturday's elbow and blinked up at him, mouth curved sweetly.  Saturday looked just as astonished as Lizzie felt, then a moment later broke into a huge grin.  He stared at the princess a minute, then glanced up.  "Brothers?" he asked expectantly.   Lizzie followed his gaze to find all of the brothers nodding, Tuesday dabbing at his eyes with a sleeve and Gordo smiling the widest of them all.

Lizzie's eyes narrowed.  He'd known this was going to happen.

"You have our blessing, Saturday!" Sunday announced for them all.  "We shall love Princess Lily as a sister!"

"Ooh!" sniffled Tuesday.  "A mum _and _a sister!"

"Now that has been decided, let us adjourn to our campsite, brothers," Sunday proposed.  "There we shall cook a merry feast and welcome the princess to our circle."  There were several cheers and halloos from the brothers as together they turned to walk toward the forest.  Lizzie just stood where she was, letting all the others pass her, smiling faintly at a very pleased-looking princess.  After a moment, she too turned, not really surprised to find Gordo waiting for her.

"You knew what was going to happen, didn't you?" she said as they walked.  It wasn't really a question.

"Of course."  Gordo nodded, intoning, "And they all lived happily ever after."

"Why were you laughing, then?"  Gordo was silent and when Lizzie looked over, he was frowning.  "What?"

He rubbed the back of his neck.  "Uh.  It's just...I'm not sure I should tell you."

Lizzie blinked.  "You're not sure you should tell me," she repeated, voice flat.

Gordo bit his lip, shrugged.  "Yeah.  It's—I _want _to tell you, Liz, it's just—I mean, it's a really good joke...."

She rolled her eyes.  "And you never tell me really good jokes; I understand."  She'd tried to rein the sarcasm in, really she had.

Gordo stared at her then heaved a deep sigh.  "All right," he whispered, "but you have to promise me it goes no further than this."

Lizzie huffed.  "Like I'd ever—"  His eyes caught hers.  "Okay, so I've told secrets before, but I've never told yours.  Promise.  Your secrets'll go with me to my grave."  She grabbed his arm.  "Now, _tell_ me."

"After all the build-up, you're not gonna think this is funny at all.  Okay.  It's just...poetic...that the princess is Am."

He stopped.  Lizzie tightened her hand on his arm.  "_And?_"

"Well...oh, she's gonna kill me for telling you...."

"_She _won't find out, whoever she is," Lizzie pressed.  "Now, come _on_."

Gordo scrubbed a hand over his face.  "Oh," he groaned, then in a quick breath, "Am's liked Larry for years."

He was right.  After the build-up, it _wasn't _funny.  In fact, she didn't get it.  So what that Am had liked—  "Tudgeman!" she shrieked.  Unbelievable!  "Am likes Tudgeman?!  _Like_ likes?"

Gordo nodded.  "For years," he affirmed ruefully.

"And she didn't tell me?"

Gordo huffed a laugh.  "Liz, she wouldn't even have told me, except we were dating at the time."

Oh.  "That's why you two broke up?"  Geez, and she'd been worried that maybe Gordo and Am had been secretly dating.  _I'm an idiot._

"Among other reasons, yeah."  He stopped walking and grasped her hand where it lay on his arm.  "Liz, you have to really, really _promise _not to tell anyone.  She will flay me alive if she finds out anyone else knows."

She turned her hand over to squeeze his.  "I've already promised, Gordo, but if it makes you feel better, I'll promise again."  She raised her free hand.  "I, Lizzie McGuire, do solemnly swear never to let anyone know that Amaryllis Smith has the hots for Larry Tudgeman.  Furthermore, I swear that no one shall ever know that it was David Gordon that spilled the beans."

"Thanks," Gordo drawled, walking again.

"Sure," Lizzie shrugged, mind already spinning back to his revelation.  "Wow," she breathed.  "I would never have guessed.  She hides it really well."  Although now that she knew, it wasn't hard to pick out moments where it showed through.  Like that tone of voice Am used when—

"And you're one to pick up on that sort of thing, anyway, McGuire?" Gordo laughed.

She snapped out of her thoughts.  "Hey," she protested.  "That's not fair.  I notice when people like other people.  I'm just...better when they're obvious about it.  What's the deal with that, anyway?  You're not supposed to hide it when you're crushing on someone."

Gordo actually snorted.  "Just because _you _didn't when you had that thing for Ethan in middle school doesn't mean that everyone goes by that rule.  Am and Larry are really good friends and, as far as she can tell, he's always been fonder of, well, _you_—at least in _that _way.  Of course she wouldn't want to risk ruining their friendship just to get her feelings off her chest."

"That's understandable," Lizzie conceded.  After all, she certainly hadn't told Gordo that she'd liked him back in middle school.  Of course, she hadn't really realized she'd liked him, then.  It was more in hindsight that she understood what she'd been feeling.  Still, even now she didn't feel precisely comfortable with the idea of telling him about her long ago crush.  He might wonder about that kiss she'd given him during the eighth grade picture, but then came Rome and high school and nothing ever came of it.  That was that.  Another thought occurred to her.  "Oh, Gordo, she must hate me!"

"What?"

"If she likes Larry and Larry likes me, she must hate me."

Gordo shook his head.  "She doesn't hate you, Liz."

"Maybe she's just really good at hiding that, too."  Not at all like Lizzie, who got grumpy with everyone at the mere thought of Gordo dating Am.  Not that she was jealous.  And not that it was the only reason—or even the main one—for her anger this past week.  It just...contributed.  Yeah.

"She doesn't hate you," Gordo reiterated.  "Come on, Liz, if anyone knows, I do—I'm the only one she can talk to about it.  She doesn't hate you.  You've shown absolutely no interest in Larry beyond the barest friendship, and besides, she was friends with you first.  It's not as though you're some brainless ditz that she can't like, let alone respect.  If nothing else, at least she can understand what Larry sees in you.  It just may take a little doing to shift his focus."

Lizzie sighed.  "I still feel guilty.  I wish there was something I could do to help her."

Gordo chuckled.  "Well, as a matter of fact, you've done quite a bit these past few days.  Your...behavior...has put Larry in a very different frame of mind.  I wouldn't be at all surprised to find they're going to prom together."

Despite his delicate phrasing, she knew exactly what he meant.  If she were Larry, she'd be pretty turned off by her treatment of Am lately, too.  "So I need to act weird and obnoxious more often?"

He gave a mock shudder.  "Oh, please, don't go to any trouble."  They smiled at one another, and Lizzie was surprised at how easy it was to mention the fight.  Granted, it was an oblique reference, but somewhere in there was a kind of oblique apology.  Not an explanation—she definitely wasn't ready for that—but an apology was something, at least.

They walked in silence for a few steps, then, "So I was laughing because I knew the princess would pick the youngest brother.  Saturday looks like Tudgeman, so it was perfect—and something like a cosmic, or intercosmic, joke—that the princess looked like Am."

Lizzie grinned.  "I can see why that'd be funny."

"But the build-up killed it, right?" Gordo guessed.

Lizzie hummed.  "Well.  Sort of.  But, mostly, I think the, uh, shocking Am-Tudgeman secret killed it."

He shrugged.  "Fair enough."

******  
end of chapter 7**

**chapter notes:  
**The version of "The Seven Brothers" that I used here came from _Magical Tales From Many Lands, _retold by Margaret Mayo, illustrated by Jane Ray. Fun to poke about in, if—like me—you enjoy this fairy tale silliness.


	8. South, Ever South

_You guys are unbelievable! I was blown away by how many reviews I got last chapter. **chuppachup,** yes I'm using all real fairy tales (very entertaining research, believe me) and will be announcing where I've gotten each one as they arise in the story. I'm so glad you're enjoying it. **Kat, **I hope this counts as an ASAP update! ;) **mel **and **pixievix, **so you liked the Princess Am part, huh? More of that this chapter. Thank you so much, **jaffa** (and do you mind if I ask if your name comes from Stargate SG-1?)! I _am_ planning on pursuing a writing career. If you're interested in reading a little of the novel I'm working on (among other stuff), my website's linked in my author profile. **swim6516, **I'm glad you're enjoying the bubble universe...so am I! ;) **I3itterSweet, **so cool that you're adding me to your faves! I'm honored. :D And, **Joe, **it's great to hear from you again. I was afraid for a little while there that maybe the bubble universe had scared you away. I'm glad it didn't, though. And don't worry about not guessing Am was the princess. You weren't supposed to. :) Lastly, **MysteriouslyUnique, **I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as the rest of the story!_

_Whew! Thank you all so much for your encouragement...it resulted in a rather unexpected writing frenzy on my part (ten pages of text at a part I was _sure _I was stuck at) and thus I am posting chapter 8 ahead of schedule. Enjoy!_

**Chapter 8: South, Ever South**

That night was indeed a "merry feast." Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday joined their talents to create thick rabbit stew and hot flatbread, a finer meal than even Princess Lily had tasted in a long time. The fire was bright and high, but despite the warm night, they crowded close around it, eating and laughing. Thursday delivered his promised account of the journey to the fortress and back, though he spent most of the tale frowning as the other brothers boldly inserted their own details. It was not as good a telling as Gordo's but far more amusing.

In fact, the brothers were very good at relaying funny stories, and more than once Lizzie found herself gasping through her laughter as the brothers began telling as many humorous Saturday stories as they could remember. For nearly an hour, the youngest brother sat smiling uncomfortably, his face flushed bright red. At last, though, the Saturday stories ended, and the brothers took turns reciting poetry and singing. Lizzie, warm, her stomach full, joined in several of the refrains of the strange songs and even sang a song of her own, a slow one off Isabella's newest album. It lent itself well to _a capella_, especially when Gordo and then some of the brothers sang along.

She winked at Gordo as soon as his voice met hers, remembering his comments on stage fright...and his general dislike of pop music. He merely rolled his eyes at her, as though to say he _did_, in fact, approve of Isabella's growing musical maturity and that, actually, he felt quite comfortable in front of these people. And to prove it, as soon as she finished her song, Gordo launched into a poem of his own.

It wasn't one she recognized, although, really, she wasn't paying much attention to the words. She sat, enthralled, as his voice rose and fell over the syllables, flowing over the snaps and curls of the old language. The others were equally rapt, a beat of silence meeting the conclusion of the poem. Then Princess Lily clapped her hands together and cried, "So beautiful, Sir Gordo! A very worthy gift for these humble betrothed! From my deepest heart, I thank you, Sir." Tears gleamed in Lily's eyes and Lizzie rather wished she'd paid more attention. Maybe she could get Gordo to repeat the poem later.

Speaking of which, since when did Gordo memorize poetry?

Lizzie turned to ask him, but Gordo was surrounded by the brothers, all of them shouting over each other, clamoring for him to teach them his poem. Shrugging, she turned back and smiled at Lily, also sitting alone. After a moment, the princess stood and walked the few steps to join Lizzie.

For the rest of the evening, the men gathered on one side of the fire, practicing Gordo's poem, while Lizzie and Lily sat on the other, talking. There was no doubt that the princess was Lily, she had her own gestures and expressions and tones of voice, but every once in a while Lizzie would catch her doing something uncannily like Am. Most startling, her sense of humor was a near replica of Am's wry wit. Before long, Lizzie found herself responding to the princess in much the same way she would Am. Keeping the details light, she even told Lily of her and Gordo's quest.

By then, the two were barely awake, blinking and yawning almost continuously. Lily excused herself and headed away from the fire to sleep, but not before she promised she would help in any way she could. Lizzie mumbled a thank you, and even as her mind tried to work through the possibilities of Lily's offer, she found herself curling up where she sat and drifting into sleep.

The next morning dawned far too early for Lizzie. Clenching gritty eyes against the persistent press of sunlight, she rolled over and tossed her arms over her face. She'd slept well, and deeply, but after all the walking of the past two days, it wasn't nearly enough.

"Time to get up, sleeping beauty," came Gordo's voice from somewhere above her.

"Eh, Gordo," Lizzie groaned, squinting up at him, "don't jinx us!" Gordo's forehead folded then smoothed as he grinned, raising his hands.

"Sorry," he said, "no more mentions of fairy tales. I promise." Lizzie nodded in satisfaction.

"Good," she grumbled. "Now leave me alone."

He chuckled. "Nope. Sorry, Liz. Rise and shine."

Ha. And he said he wasn't a morning person. Borrowing one of his own lines, she growled, "You rise. You shine." She tried to hold onto her scowl, but a smile rose of its own volition as Gordo collapsed to his knees beside her, wheezing with laughter.

"Do I really sound like that?" he managed eventually. Lizzie merely raised an eyebrow, reaching out to grab one of Gordo's arms as she sat up. Her back was in much better shape this morning, she noted—not nearly as stiff. Or was that not nearly stiff enough? A moment after she sat up, she found herself slumping forward into Gordo, her head falling to his shoulder.

"Why am I supposed to wake up again?" she mumbled into his neck, her eyes closed.

"Um, because everyone else is?" he offered. His voice rumbled low with her ear against him, sending sleepy vibrations along her cheek and neck. She resisted the urge to burrow deeper into his shoulder.

"I don't see everyone else up," she countered, lips barely moving. He was very comfortable, actually. A little bony, but warm and solid.

"Uh, Liz, that's because your eyes are closed." Ooh. Was that a chuckle rolling through his chest and down her spine? She sighed and this time did tuck her head a little tighter against his neck. The light behind her eyes dimmed immediately. Splendid.

"So?" she grunted. Now if he would just hold still, she might be able to go back to sleep.

His shoulders heaved over a deep breath, and Lizzie frowned. What did he think he was doing? Didn't he have any compassion for her at all? All she wanted was a pillow, for crying out loud. An _unmoving _pillow. Wrinkling her nose, she adjusted her head more securely in the crook of his neck. "StpmovgImtrygtoseep." Not exactly crystal clear, but she didn't really care. Gordo would probably understand anyway.

And for a moment, it seemed he did. He went silent and still, and Lizzie began to drift off again. Then his head turned, fingers fumbling through the hair by her ear, sweeping it back and away. "Elizabeth," he whispered, breath raising gooseflesh on her neck, "Elizabeth, dearest friend, as much as I know you want to sleep, if you do not lift your head and wake up within the next few seconds, I'm afraid I shall have to call some of the brothers over to...help. The fairy tale way. I'm sure they'd love to find we have a sleeping be—"

Lizzie's head came up with a snap. "Don't you dare even say it, David Gordon," she hissed, her hand clamping over his mouth. Blue eyes smirked over the top of her fingers.

"Awake now, are we?" he snickered, pulling her hand down.

Lips pursed, she took stock. "Yes, damn it."

He ignored her glare. "Good. 'Cuz Lily has something to share with us."

What? "Why didn't you say so in the first place?" she asked, rolling her eyes and jumping to her feet. That changed everything. That wasn't just _waking up_, that was waking up to the possibility they might be going home soon. She looked down to find Gordo still kneeling, eyes big and soft in his patented longsuffering expression. _Yeah, yeah, poor Gordo_, she thought. "I know, I'm crazy, and you're a saint for putting up with me," she nodded. "But are you just gonna sit there all day? C'mon!" Without another glance, she located Princess Lily across the smoldering remains of the fire and headed over.

No doubt Gordo was shaking his head and tsking under his breath.

"Lady Lizzie," Lily exclaimed as Lizzie reached her. "I am glad Sir Gordo could rouse you. I have very good news, dear friend, and it looked for a moment that you wouldn't wake. I have heard of a woman, a princess, to the north who has slept for centuries, and I was afraid that perhaps you had become just such another sleeping—"

"—beauty," Lizzie interjected, trying not to sound too impatient. "I know. Well, no worries. I'm awake. What's this good news?"

Lily's smile was brilliant. "I have thought long and hard on your quest. And I believe I know of someone who might help you. Rather, I know not how to reach that someone directly, but I think I know some people who can: a husband and wife, good friends of my father, who live many leagues south of here. They are very kind people and owe their success to this mystical someone whom I mentioned."

Lizzie summoned an answering smile. It wasn't all that she hoped, but it was something. Still, 'many leagues south of here'? "Sounds like a long walk, Princess Lily," she said.

Lily grew solemn. "Yes. It is. Many weeks long. But I believe I have something that will shorten the journey." _A car would be nice,_ Lizzie thought, raising her eyebrows politely. "Here." The princess reached into the side of her bodice, presumably inside a small pocket, and withdrew what looked like...a walnut? Lizzie couldn't quite keep the disbelief from her face.

"I know," Lily ducked her head. "It doesn't appear much, but the sorcerer had many strange and wondrous things in his fortress. This was my wedding gift." Lizzie blinked down at the nut. "Originally, it opened to hold twenty yards of the finest gold cloth in the world, but one night I snuck into the sorcerer's treasure rooms and replaced the cloth with something else." Her fingers worked some invisible catch and the walnut's top snicked open. Sliding a nail along the seam, she twisted the walnut apart and grinned at Lizzie.

"The sorcerer was a fool, you know. He desired me not for my beauty and my cleverness alone, but because I have a gift much like his. Not as powerful, no, but a gift nonetheless. It was just enough to ensorcell this little shell to hold a carpet." She reached in the walnut, pinched, and withdrew a shimmering band of airy shape. As soon as the last of the shimmer cleared the nut, the shape solidified into a large carpet, maroon swirled with gold and cream and sapphire. "'Tis a flying carpet. I'd seen the sorcerer use it, and I planned that as soon as I was able, I would escape with it." Lizzie closed her gaping mouth. "It probably would not have worked, and I'm glad I had no need of it, but it will get you to the southern water forests in a mere day."

Lizzie couldn't do more than stare, first at the carpet, then the nut, then at Lily. She tried to summon words, but they wouldn't come, caught stubbornly somewhere in her chest.

"This is a very great gift, Princess Lily," Gordo said over Lizzie's shoulder. "Lady Lizzie and I are honored by your counsel and your help." Well, good, that was exactly what she'd wanted to say.

Lily blushed and smiled. "It is nothing in exchange for the help of your friends in rescuing me. Or in the gift of my husband-to-be. Or for the poem you spoke for us last night. I am glad to give this to you. I wish your quest success equal to that of my new brothers." She curtsied and Lizzie managed a curtsy in return, too stunned to do more than listen as Lily told Gordo how to use the carpet and where they needed to go. She sat silent as the brothers offered breakfast, a full waterskin, and some bread and cheese, and at last gained her voice when it came time for farewells.

The brothers—especially Tuesday—grew teary as they bid her good-bye. Most of them simply pressed her hand with theirs, but Saturday and Thursday both embraced her. She'd only been in their company two days, but she was amazed to realize how much she'd miss them. She'd even miss Lily, whom she'd only just met. These were kind people, good people, and she and Gordo were leaving them for something unknown, for something called the water forests, which sounded singularly uninviting, really. She only hoped Thursday's lessons would still apply there.

At last, the farewells were said, and she and Gordo knelt atop the spread carpet, brothers and Lily looking on. Gordo tapped twice on a cream swirl between his knees, and the carpet lurched into the air, rising as stiff as a table below her. Still, she couldn't remove the image of a floating carpet from her mind and immediately grasped Gordo's waist with both arms.

"Not too tight, Liz," he cautioned. "And smile for our friends, okay?" She nodded, although she knew he couldn't see from where he sat in front of her, and turned a wobbly smile on the others. "Good-bye and good luck," Gordo called to them, waving as Sunday returned the phrase. Then, with a muttered, "Here we go," he tapped once, softly, on a gold swirl. The carpet moved forward smoothly and, as Gordo leaned back and to the left, rose in a shallow left arch. Lizzie hardly dared breathe, but in a moment more they were above the trees, heading swiftly away from the fortress and their friends.

It took her a little while to get used to the carpet, but after a time it was more exhilarating than terrifying. The wind blew strong in her face, tugging on her skirts and the ends of her hair, and Gordo seemed perfectly at ease guiding the carpet, eyes narrowed against the sun as they headed south, ever south.

The landscape was remarkable below them, the tops of trees dancing in the wind, leaves rustling, flipping pale green then dark green, the forest opening up from time to time for a grassy clearing or a rushing stream. Occasionally birds would fly beside them or even around them, and Lizzie couldn't help the excited fisting of her hands at Gordo's waist.

"Not too tight," he reminded her, turning only slightly toward her.

"I know," she said loudly over the whistling wind, "I'm sorry. It's just, Gordo, we're flying with the birds!"

His cheek rounded in what she assumed was a smile. "Pretty amazing, huh?"

Her hands clenched again before she remembered to loosen them. "Amazing doesn't even begin to cover it!" A thought occurred to her. "You don't have a poem for _this,_ do you, Gordo?"

A chuckle rumbled against her hands. "No. Afraid not. The poem I recited last night is the only one I've memorized."

"Can you say it for me again? I'm afraid I didn't really pay attention to the words last night, and then Lily seemed to like it so much and I didn't know why."

He shrugged. "Sure. Let me just remember." He was silent a moment, then said, "What did become of my heart when I first saw thee? I brought a heart into the room, but from the room I carried none with me. If it had gone to thee, I know mine would have taught thine heart to show more pity unto me; but Love, alas! At one first blow did shiver it as glass. Yet nothing can to nothing fall, nor any place be empty quite; therefore I think my breast hath all those pieces still, though they be not unite; and now, as broken glasses show a hundred lesser faces, so my rags of heart can like, wish, and adore, but after one such love, can love no more."

Much of the inflection that had caught her last night was snatched by the wind, but the words came across clear. "That's really lovely, Gordo. Who's it by?"

"John Donne. It's actually just the last two stanzas of 'The Broken Heart,' and it's not a very happy poem. It certainly declares the strength of love and the grief of a heart broken by such a love, but the sense of the whole poem, including the first two stanzas, is that of a love unrequited or without a home. Take the good with the bad, I guess, and Lily and the brothers chose to focus more on the good."

"Which is what you thought they'd do, right?" Lizzie guessed. He nodded. "Why did you memorize _that _poem, if it's so sad?"

He didn't answer immediately, breathing deeply for a long minute before he said, "I first read it when Gorgeous was in the hospital." Lizzie's own breath caught. Of course. Two years ago, his favorite grandmother had suffered a minor stroke. She'd mostly recovered since then, but Lizzie well remembered those first few months when Gordo had been utterly distracted with worry. "Donne was one of her favorite poets," he continued. "So, when I went to visit her, and we weren't sure how bad the stroke was, I brought along a copy of his poems to read to her.

"I really liked 'The Broken Heart.' I'm not sure why. Maybe because I thought Gorgeous might die—and that was pretty heart-breaking—and I guess partly because I'd just broken up with Am. I wasn't heart-broken over her, but I couldn't help thinking about her...situation...when I read the poem. Unrequited love and all that."

Lizzie nodded to his back. _My rags of heart can like, wish, and adore, but after one such love, can love no more._ Yikes. "Do you think Am really loves Larry like that?"

His head tilted a little, shoulders hitching. "The bubble universe sure seems to think so," he said after a moment. Lizzie's mouth tipped up. That wasn't an answer, and she was pretty sure he knew it. Sure enough, a second later, he shook his head. "But that doesn't mean much, I guess. I don't know. Sometimes, from the way she talks about him, I think _maybe _she really loves him like that. But then other times..."

"You wonder if maybe she's just too young to love like that?" Lizzie finished for him.

Another beat of silence, then, "That might be part of it, but, no, I think I'm just not sure of the depth of her feelings for him."

_The depth of her feelings?_ "And how long have you been in couples therapy, Dr. Gordon?" Lizzie teased.

Gordo's answering laugh was more half-hearted than she expected. "Yeah," he conceded, very dryly. "Who am I to know anything about true, heart-breaking love?" That was exactly what she'd meant, but there was something in his tone she didn't like at all, something mocking that raised her hackles. Was he laughing at her or at himself?

She tamped down on the urge to ask, took a deep breath, and merely said, "Well, I don't know, I can't help but feel we're pretty young to be feeling true, heart-breaking love."

"I don't know about that." Not exactly the response she'd been looking for, but at least that _tone _was gone.

"What do you mean?"

He shrugged. "Well, how do you explain high school sweethearts who get married and live out the rest of their lives together?"

Lizzie bit her lip. Good point. "I'm not sure, Gordo. I just find it really hard to envision any of our friends finding the person they're going to marry right now. I mean, as much as I like the idea of it, I don't really believe in soul mates—you know, one person for everyone. I'd hate to think that if my one person died just a week after I met him, I'd never have another love for the rest of my life. So, barring soul mates, how would any of us even recognize true love?"

Gordo was quiet for so long that Lizzie wondered if he'd even heard her. Scooting closer, she caught a glimpse of the side of his face, profile bent in thought. Ah, just working through an idea then. She settled in to wait.

Not a few moments later, he spoke. "No," he exhaled on a long breath, "I don't really believe in soul mates either. And I suppose, yes, for most people our age, true love is beyond our understanding and definitely beyond our ability to see. But I think sometimes there's a maturity, a knowledge of self and of others that allows a few people our age to know what they're looking for. Or if not know it, feel it. And I think sometimes there's a synchronicity of time and people and place that just...works. A moment where eyes are opened to themselves and to that other person. Besides, who says true love has to start out as true love? Maybe you _don't _recognize it at first, but as your relationship deepens and continues, you realize it's exactly what you were looking for."

Lizzie nodded. That last one sounded almost exactly like her parents, who'd met freshman year of high school but didn't start dating until after they'd been friends for eight years. Over and over, Lizzie had heard her mom and dad joke about the Night of the Kiss, when a lightning storm, a porch swing, and a startled Jo Gerek conspired to turn a peck on the cheek into something much more pleasant. Within a year, they were married.

Still, while she thought her parents' story was rather romantic, it was strange to imagine Ethan marrying Maggie or Miranda marrying Jon or Am marrying Larry. "Do you think any of our friends will end up married to each other?" she asked quietly, only realizing after the words left her mouth that Gordo might not be able to hear her over the wind.

But apparently he had, as he shrugged and even turned to meet her eyes, saying, "I don't know."

Lizzie rolled her eyes as he faced front again. "C'mon, Gordo," she prodded, "you've got all these theories on true love. Tell me who you think might end up married."

He spared another brief glance her way. "Okay, fine." He hummed and stroked his chin, answering in an accent more French than German, "I foresee zat ze brainless buoyancy of ze Ethan Craft vill be vell matched in ze bubbly beauty of ze Maggie Fogel. Of course, zis vill not last long, as he vill leave her for ze famous singer Miranda Sanchez. Miranda, having divorced ze successful physicist Jon Dukov years before to pursue her career, vill dally vith Ethan but eventually go on alone.

"Bethel Vashington vill devote her life to serving others in missions, vhile Veruca Albano vorks her vay to becoming one of ze finest economists in ze vorld! As for Larry Tudgeman und Am Smith, zey vill pine avay for one another on opposite sides of ze country, completely unable to tell one another of zeir secret crushes. As for David Gordon und Elizabeth McGuire, after years of vitnessing zeir friends' insanity, and years of Mr. Gordon being ze only vone allowed to take Ms McGuire out for dinner und a movie, zey vill marry very quietly, very far avay from zeir crazy friends, on a remote island in ze Pacific." He gave a nod and cast a quick look at her. "How's that?"

Lizzie was laughing so hard she could barely think of an answer, let alone say it. At last she managed to gasp, "Your accent's _terrible_. And I think you spend way too much time with your parents."

He returned to the accent. "Ja. After spending so much time vith two psychiatrists, it is a vonder Mr. Gordon is not a head case, in my professional opinion."

"He's not?" Lizzie said. "Oh dear. Whatever am I going to do with that straitjacket?"

Gordo tsked. "Vhy, hang it in your closet beside ze other vones, Ms McGuire." Lizzie pinched his side in retaliation, then shrieked as, at Gordo's jump, the carpet dropped an abrupt few inches. No more of _that_,then.

******  
end of chapter 8**

**chapter notes:  
**You can find the whole John Donne poem "The Broken Heart" here: w w w (dot) luminarium (dot) org (slash) sevenlit (slash) donne (slash) broken (dot) h t m There's a bunch of other Donne poems on that same site, if you want to look around. As for the one I quoted, please pardon the lack of correct capitalization and "/" to indicate line breaks, but I thought it flowed better written as a speech.


	9. The Snake's Arrow

_Again, thanks to all my reviewers! **VaSinFlor**, so this story provides a break from schoolwork?  Cool!  Heaven knows I spent at least half my college years reading fanfic, so I'm glad to carry on the tradition...from the other side this time. :D  **Mel**, I'm so glad you're enjoying the story thus far...I shall certainly do my best to keep it interesting!  **MysteriouslyUnique**, I hope you enjoy this next chapter as well. So you recognized the poem, huh, **swim6516**? Remarkable how those English classes affect their sneaky mind control, isn't it? And, yeah, I probably enjoyed writing that little scene as much as you enjoyed reading it. :D Gordo's not exactly subtle, is he?  Too bad Lizzie's not paying attention.  **always krissy**, I'm honored you like my characterizations of Lizzie and Gordo!  **Jaffa**...sorry about the Stargate question. I'm a wee bit obsessed with the show and when I saw your name I thought _Ach! Jaffa like Teal'c!  _Suffice it to say, you have an awesome nickname!  (As Teal'c, himself, would say, "Indeed!")  I hope you enjoy this chapter!  **JustOneOfMyLies**, thank you so much for the very specific feedback. It's beyond wonderful to hear what I'm getting right...and to be characterized as a storyteller —in my opinion, rather a trickier role to fill than merely that of good writer!  Thank you._

_And now, on to chapter 9...._

**Chapter 9: The Snake's Arrow**

The rest of the morning, and most of the afternoon, went smoothly and for the most part silently.  The forest below them began to take on some definite changes, the trees growing taller, their leaves wider and densely knit.  They saw fewer and fewer clearings, although the streams were faster and thicker, churning white over occasional rapids.  The birds changed too, large and brightly colored and not nearly as willing to fly beside them.

Albeit interesting, the changes beneath them held little of their attention when they realized the sky above them was changing as well.  Gordo spotted the clouds first, turning to gesture to Lizzie just as she was tucking away the rest of the bread and cheese Wednesday had given them.  All day they'd flown through clear sky, but before them were undeniably clouds, clouds an undeniably leaden color.  They were heading for some serious weather.

"And not a seatbelt or flotation device in sight," Gordo lamented.

Lizzie resisted the urge to hit him and asked instead, "Does it look like it's raining yet?  Maybe the rain'll hold off until we get there."

"Maybe," Gordo replied, but he didn't sound at all convinced.

As it turned out, the rain did wait until they got there.  It just didn't wait until they got _through._  Gordo had just turned the carpet to follow the sinuous coil of a small forest stream—the last landmark Lily had given them for their journey—when the clouds above them opened up.  Within moments they were drenched, fat raindrops falling in steel-grey sheets to plaster hair and clothes against their skin and in their eyes.

"That's it," Lizzie growled, swiping a sopping gold swath of hair off her nose.  "I'm braiding this stuff next downtime we get.  No more of this pretty princess long hair crap."  She had far more to say, but Gordo's low, urgent, "Hush, Liz," closed her mouth immediately.  Looking around, she noticed that their visibility had dropped to a mere ten feet.  They were in a misty grey bubble, with no sight of trees or river or even clouds.

"I'm going to try and take us down," Gordo said over the hiss of the rain.  "If we're lucky, we haven't strayed too far from the river.  Maybe we can find our way back to it."  With a squeeze of her fist against his side, Lizzie nodded.  A moment later, Gordo was leaning forward just a little, the carpet dropping at a shallow angle.  And a few moments after that, leaves and branches came into view.  Gordo maneuvered the carpet into an opening in the greenery and they sank below the forest canopy into a world of black bark and trailing vines, of waxy blue-green leaves and sage cloaks of hanging moss.  The rain still fell, but much less heavily—not that it mattered, as the air was dense with humidity and very warm.

"Fairy tale rain forest," Gordo whispered as he continued to guide the carpet down.  Lizzie had already come to the same conclusion, her eyes darting among the trees.  She'd done a report on rain forests in fifth grade and had held the opinion since then that they were the last place she'd ever want to visit.  Nasty, poisonous snakes.  Nasty, poisonous bugs.  Constant heat.  Constant humidity.  And monkeys.  She shuddered.  She really, really didn't like monkeys.  Not in the wild, anyway: she'd seen _The Jungle Book_.

She was so caught up in imagining several monkeys abducting her from the carpet and carrying her, screeching and oo-oohing all the while, to their monkey king, that when she did at last see a monkey—just a little, tawny thing—she jumped and screamed, grabbing Gordo so hard that he jumped too.  The carpet lurched once, twice, three times and, even as Gordo tried to regain control, began a steep dive to the forest floor.

It happened too fast to really understand, but one moment they were drifting gently to the ground and the next Lizzie was airborne, the forest a blur of greens and browns until, with a sharp pain above her ear, everything went black.

  
*********#######*********

Sheets.  Sheets under her cheek.  Sheets draped over her back, tangling her legs.  Sheets.  _Home_.  Lizzie felt a sleep-drugged moment of satisfaction, smiling as she remembered their fall from the carpet—falling _was_ the key to waking up.  Eyes still closed, she rolled over and drew a deep, content breath.

The sheets smelled like smoke.  The deep breath left on a sigh.  Fire-smoke.  She knew what that meant.

Blasted bubble universe.

Her eyes flicked open, blinking into stuttering orange and black.  It took a moment for the lines and shadow to align properly, but at last Lizzie made out a wood-paneled wall...and a face. Half-buried in shadow, it was not six inches away, and Lizzie's tired eyes strained to bring the abstract chiaroscuro of features into focus.  Feathered, sooty crescent—eyelashes.  Which would make that charcoal wedge _there _a nose.  And beside _that_, the orange round of a cheek.  Her gaze traced along the cheek into a messy thatch the color of brandy.  Hair—curls.  Gordo.  Now that she knew what she was looking for, the face came together easily.

He looked unharmed, she was glad to note, and was definitely still sleeping.  She blinked at him a little longer before the slow, even rhythm of his breath tempted her eyes closed again.  He was all right, she told herself, feeling her body sinking into the mattress, he wasn't hurt in the fall.  She nuzzled into the smoky sheets and would have inched closer to Gordo if she hadn't been so... very... comfortable already.

How nice, she thought muzzily, how nice that Gordo was here.  How nice to be warm...and dry.  How nice that the monkeys had thought to bring them out of the rain....

Her eyes snapped open.  Monkeys?  Here?

(Pushing aside the image of a team of acrobatic monkeys grinning behind her.)  Where was 'here'?

She sat up so quickly her vision dimmed.  When it cleared again, she found herself looking into a small room, bare save for a low table and the floor pallet she and Gordo shared.  There wasn't even the fire she'd expected.  Instead, the firelight seemed to come from behind a curtain of pale, light cloth.  Draped over a stout rope running from one side wall to the other, the cloth was folded back about a foot, a narrow doorway for the orange light and warm, smoky air.

Shuffling her feet from under the sheets to find the rough wood floor, she stood, startled at the lack of skirts meeting her ankles.  Instead of the familiar dress, she wore only a thin white shift, the same one she'd been wearing below the dress these past few days—in essence, her underclothes.  Immediately, she sat down again, jostling Gordo as she burrowed back under the sheets.  She'd intended to look beyond the curtain and perhaps even explore the rest of the house, but no way was she going to do that wearing only freaking bubble universe underwear.

Grumbling, she eyed Gordo and wondered whether he really needed the sheet.  Maybe she could wrap it around herself and go find her dress.  He wouldn't miss it...right?  After all, it was warm in here and they'd slept outdoors for the past two nights.  Surely he didn't need a sheet.  But before she could work out how to pry it from under his arm, he stirred, two eyes slitting open.

Instantly sheepish, even though she _knew _he didn't know what she'd been planning, she managed a little smile and chirped a simple, "Hello."

"Good morning," he croaked, his voice low and thick with sleep.  With a swift, sudden breath, he stretched and rubbed his eyes.  Blinking blearily at her, "Or is it even morning?"

Lizzie shrugged and drew back a little on the pallet to help him focus.  "I don't know.  I just woke up a few minutes before you did."

It took Gordo a moment to process this, then his eyes opened wide.  "We crashed!" he recalled.  "Are you all right?"

She nodded, smile broadening into a grin.  "I'm fine," she said, realizing it even as she spoke.  "Not even a headache, although I'm pretty sure I blacked out when we landed.  What about you?"

He was silent, rolling his shoulders and neck before saying, "I think I'm fine too."  Then he frowned.  "I wonder how long we've been asleep."

Lizzie hadn't thought of that...and couldn't really say she wanted to, either.  Days?  Weeks?  Years?  Was it possible to sleep so long, even in a bubble universe, even if they were healing?  "Maybe we just stumbled upon a band of doctors or something," she offered.  "Or, you know, maybe we really weren't hurt badly."

"I hope so, Liz," Gordo nodded.  "I'd hate to think we've been sleeping for months of convalescence."

Lizzie shuddered.  "Yeah, me too."

"Still," Gordo mused, looking away, "better that than a witch who'll never let us go."

Lizzie shuddered again.  "Yeah."

"Or a witch who just wants to make soup of us."  Soup?  Nausea rose sharp in Lizzie's stomach, but Gordo just chuckled.  "Ah, the joys of a fairy tale bubble universe."  Lizzie curled into a ball on the pallet, squeezing her eyes shut, and perhaps the movement drew Gordo's attention, as his laughter abruptly ceased.  "Hey, Lizzie," he said, tugging on a strand of her hair.  "I'm sorry.  I'm just kidding."  Lizzie opened her eyes and glared at him.  "I really was just kidding, Liz," he tried again.  "I'm sure we're somewhere completely safe."

Her glare didn't soften...and neither did the tight knot in her stomach.  "Just stop talking about it," she growled.

The word clicked against his teeth: "Right."  And for a few minutes, there was silence.  Then, after a while, Gordo sat up and asked, "So, should we go exploring?"

Lizzie glanced at him, noting that he wore a white shirt and a pair of green trousers—not his clothes, but close enough in style.  Lucky.  "_You _can," she said, "but I'm not exactly dressed for exploring."  Gordo eyed her white shift where it lay on her shoulders, above the sheets, and a smile quirked the corner of his mouth.  Lizzie felt the glare returning to her face; she didn't know what he was laughing at, but she didn't like that...smirk.

Apparently Gordo got the message, as he coughed and looked away, his face smooth when he met her gaze again.  "Okay," he agreed.  "You can stay here.  Although, if you want to come along, I don't see why you can't just wear the shee—"

He was interrupted by a stirring of the curtain.  Both their gazes snapped to the movement, watching intently as the fabric shifted again, twitched, and was inched aside to reveal a small, pert nose, a pair of wide, pale eyes, and a close-cropped head of curly honey hair.  Little fingers curved around the edge of the curtain, squeezed, and disappeared, the child disappearing with them.  Then, a moment later, a young voice yelled, "Mama, they're not asleeping anymore!"

Lizzie stifled the laugh that rose in her throat and turned to grin at Gordo.

"I guess we don't need to worry about evil witches, huh?" he asked with a grin as wide as hers.  She merely had time to shake her head before the curtain opened again, this time to reveal a woman.  A woman who looked a great deal like Maggie Fogel.  "Here we go again," Gordo muttered behind her.

Lizzie wanted to hush him, but her mouth refused to cooperate.  This was a _woman _who looked like Maggie Fogel.  There were the same short honey curls, the same aquamarine eyes, no more lines etching the face than she'd ever seen on the real Maggie Fogel.  And yet.  And yet this Maggie was not a girl, not even a young woman—as Lily had been.  Somehow, _this _Maggie looked like a woman some ten or more years older than her counterpart.  Lizzie couldn't figure out why—was it something in the way she held her shoulders, something in the way she wore the turquoise sarong tied between her breasts?  Or was it the way the child padded adoringly at her heels?

"Welcome to my home," the woman said, her voice a still, soft version of the real Maggie's.  She folded both hands together against her breastbone and bowed slightly.  Out of the corner of her eye, Lizzie saw Gordo attempt an answering bow but couldn't make herself move to echo him.  "I am Nadie, wife of Evarado, mother of Sisika.  I hope you have slept well."

Again, it was Gordo who answered.  "Yes, thank you.  I am Gordo.  This is Lizzie."  His hand lifted in Lizzie's direction, hovering as his forehead folded.  Lizzie looked from him to Nadie, hearing the questions he wanted to ask and not any more certain on how to phrase them.

But apparently, Nadie didn't need them in words.  Her lips lifted in a bare smile and she bowed again.  "Of course," she stated, "you must be curious how you came to be here, how long you have slept.  Do not worry."  She raised a cupped hand.  "I am certain you are hungry, guests, and as we eat, my husband and I will answer your questions."  The fingers of her raised hand swept open and out and back, a flower blooming and budding again.  "Please, Gordo, attend Sisika to the fire room while I assist Lizzie in her preparations."

Lizzie turned to catch and nod at Gordo's questioning glance, watching as he rose, hitched trousers too long for him up higher on his legs, and followed the child—Sisika—past the curtain.  When he had gone, she looked back to Nadie, startled to find the woman holding a drape of jade green cloth.  How had she missed seeing that in Nadie's hands?

"I believe you are concerned about your garments, Lizzie?" Nadie asked, stepping forward in a sinuous heel-toe motion that barely disturbed the cloth against her legs.  "They are still drying, I am afraid, but here is one of mine to wear as you wait."  Lizzie hesitantly stood and reached for the jade fabric Nadie offered.  Instead of releasing it, however, the woman gestured for Lizzie to raise her arms, then looped the cloth around Lizzie's back, under her arms, to knot the upper corners between her breasts.  Lizzie lowered her arms, surprised at how close the fabric held against her and by how much of it remained, gathered in folds from the knot to past her knees.  It was actually a lot more comfortable than she'd expected it to be, but she was still glad she wore her shift beneath it.

"There," Nadie nodded, looking pleased, "and now we may go to our meal."

Lizzie tried on a smile, feeling it curve shyly around her mouth, and said, "Thank you, Nadie."  Amazing.  Despite the familiar face, she felt almost awestruck by the woman.  Obediently, she followed Nadie past the curtain and into another room, this one with a fire at its center and Gordo, Sisika, and—Ethan?—sitting on low wooden stools.  Lizzie gaped at the bare-chested Ethan for a moment before moving to join Gordo, telling herself sternly that Ethan was most probably Evarado, Nadie's husband, and that, besides, she'd gotten over her crush on the real Ethan years ago.

Still, he had a _great _chest.

"Shut up," she muttered to herself, fixing her eyes firmly on Gordo's sardonic expression as she rounded the fire and took the stool beside him.

"Might want to mop up the drool there, McGuire," he said, earning himself a light backhand across his arm.

"Shut up," she repeated, to him this time.  "It's not like I can _help _it that he has a great chest.  Doesn't mean I'm gonna jump over the fire and attack him.  Geez."  Still, she kept her gaze firmly on Gordo.  No sense in drooling if she didn't have to.

Damn, that sounded cruel.  As though Gordo wasn't drool-worthy too.  He was.  He just wasn't quite the uncomplicated eye-candy that Ethan—Evarado—Ethan was.

Guilty, she licked her lips and blurted, "You're drool-worthy too."  Gordo's eyes popped open and Lizzie winced.  Oops.  She hadn't meant to say that quite so...bluntly.  In fact, she wasn't quite sure _how _she meant to say that.  Or, for that matter, _what_ she meant to say.

She looked up to see a faint grin shaping Gordo's mouth.  "Don't do me any favors, Liz," he chuckled.  He seemed to have written it off as another Lizzie McGuire brain murmur.  Grrr.

"No," she protested, "I'm serious, Gordo."  She winced again.  "I didn't mean to say it quite like that, but I know you used to hate how Miranda and I fawned all over Ethan.  I'm just trying to say, eh—" What_ was_ she trying to say?  "Eh, just that...."  Ah, hell.  "I'd rather fawn over you than Ethan any day."  Or something like that.

Gordo's eyes widened, surprised for good this time.  His mouth opened, closed, opened again, then he frowned.  Clearing his throat, he managed, "Thanks.  Lizzie."

Her mind cleared enough for her to add, hurriedly, "That is, I'm past all the superficial stuff."  She laughed, uncomfortably.  "You've taught me well, Sensei."  Bother.  How on earth did she get herself into these conversations?

The pole-axed look on Gordo's face disappeared, the slight smile returning.  "And I am proud, grasshopper," he answered and, with a slight bow, turned to their waiting hosts.

Lizzie turned too, not surprised to find Evarado's bare chest had lost all its appeal.  _Stupid, _she berated herself.  _Why couldn't you just tell him he really _is _drool-worthy?_  He didn't look hurt...but then he never did when she or Miranda made some careless remark about another guy, a remark that, by exclusion, cut Gordo down to nothing more than a brain.  She'd resolved long ago to stop _doing _that.  Yet here she was....  _'You've taught me well, Sensei.'  Why not just tell him he's cute too?_

But it was a little late now.  And Nadie was speaking.

"—found you, hurt, on the forest floor.  My husband brought you back here, Sisika and I nursed your wounds, and after you slept the night and this day, you have awakened, well again."

"Thank you very much," Gordo replied, inclining his head.  "And did you locate our carpet?"

Evarado's eyebrows jumped.  "Ah, yes," he said in Ethan's voice, with none of Ethan's cheerful vapidity.  "I did.  I used it to drag you and your lady to the treehouse."

Gordo was nodding, but all Lizzie could think was _Treehouse?_  Well, that was unique.  She couldn't wait until the morning, when they might look outside, on the trees, the birds, and, she hoped, no monkeys.  And then, of course, there was the whole climbing down thing.

Awesome.

The others were talking again.  _Focus, McGuire._

"Ah," Evarado was saying, "yes, I do know this couple of whom you speak."  Gordo must have asked about the husband and wife they sought.  "In truth, you have found them."  He reached a hand for his wife and gave his guests a significant look.  Startled, Lizzie swung a glance to meet Gordo's.

Again, how awesome was that?  They grinned at each other.

"This being you seek," Nadie said, "the one your Princess Lily told you about, she is the Black Snake of the Water Forest, a mystical creature of great wisdom.  Indeed, if there is anyone to help you in your quest, it is she."

Evarado nodded.  "Yes.  I would not be standing here, tall, hearty, a successful hunter with my beautiful wife and child, were it not for the Black Snake...and her arrow."  Smiling gently at Nadie, he squeezed her hand and said, "Fetch our meal, dearest, and I shall tell our guests of our meeting so long ago."

Nadie immediately released her husband's hand and withdrew to a corner of the room, where a rough-hewn cupboard stood.  Within a few minutes, she returned with nuts, unfamiliar berries, and what looked like large, white flower petals.  Over this simple meal, Evarado told his story, the story of the two giant demon monkeys (_Ha! _Lizzie thought triumphantly) that haunted the water forest when he was young.  They so terrorized the forest and its people, he said, that soon his two older brothers had decided to venture forth and kill them.  Neither one returned, and at last Evarado himself felt the need to go, despite his weakness and ill health.  As he walked, he came upon a great, black snake.  She asked him his business, listened to his answer, and gave him an old, worn-looking arrow.

"That," she said, "is an enchanted arrow."  And, certainly, as soon as he touched it, his sickness fell away, his limbs growing strong and eager.  "It will kill the two monkeys, but you must follow my directions carefully to rid the forest of their evil.  As you draw near the monkeys' lair, you will pass a large, ugly toad-woman.  She will offer help, if you promise to marry her—do so, you will not be sorry."  With that, the snake bid him farewell, and Evarado headed into the forest again.

As he expected, he met the toad-woman.  At his promise of marriage, she told him that he needed to aim his arrow between the eyes of one of the monkeys.  All he needed was to hit one of them and they would both die.  Evarado took his arrow and his betrothed to wait for the monkeys to appear.  As they came out of their lair to drink, he took aim between the first monkey's eyes, loosed the arrow, and watched as the monkeys screamed their rage and disappeared, leaving only two skins on the ground.

His duty completed, Evarado returned to his village and married the toad-woman.  As they crossed the threshold of their new house, she transformed into a beautiful woman.  Not long after his marriage, he became a great hunter, soon doubly blessed by the birth of his daughter, Sisika.

At the end of the tale, Lizzie was drooping on her stool, remarkably tired for someone who'd done nothing but sleep for the past day and a half.  She looked over to find Gordo's eyes as heavy-lidded as hers felt.

"You must sleep," Nadie announced, Sisika drowsing on her lap.  "Your bodies are not completely recovered yet.  Please, return to your rest.  Tomorrow, Evarado and I will tell you where to find the Black Snake."  She rose and Lizzie automatically followed, nodding goodnights to their hosts as she headed back to their room.

Once beyond the curtain, she untied the jade sarong, puddled the cloth on the floor, and crawled beneath the sheets just in time to see Gordo enter the room behind her.  He stopped next to the pallet, blinking.

"Only one bed, Liz," he yawned.

She shrugged.  "I'm too tired to care."

He nodded, climbing under the sheets to settle next to her.  "I won't maul you if you won't maul me," he teased sleepily.

Lizzie tugged her mouth up into a smile, her eyelids so heavy now that she couldn't hold them open.  "I'll try not to maul you," she mumbled.  "Even though you _are _damn cute."

Her last thought before sleep claimed her was a very satisfied, _There!  I told him!_

_Finally._

******  
end of chapter 9**

**chapter notes:  
**I don't, of course, own _The Jungle Book_, but I suppose I rather _can_ claim Lizzie's fear of monkeys. :D As for the fairy tale, I drew from the version of "The Snake's Arrow" found in _A World Treasury of Myths, Legends, and Folktales: Stories From Six Continents, _retold by Renata Bini, illustrated by Mikhail Fiodorov.


	10. The Black Snake

_I apologize for getting this chapter out so late. I was out of town...and then I was back...and then things went insane. But everything's lovely now. Ahem. Really. At any rate, thanks for your patience and thank you to all my reviewers! **mel,** if you liked the "drool-worthy" bit, I think you'll like this next chapter as well! And, **swim6516**, the Black Snake is on the scene...I hope you like her...and her advice. :D **MysteriouslyUnique**, I'm afraid you had to be a little more patient than usual this time around...I hope the chapter makes up for it. There's a little more flirting in this one, **pixievix**, and from here on it should be steadily increasing. (yay!) ;) The discussion of the fight should be interesting, **VaSinFlor**...at least, I hope so. I haven't written that part yet! And, **Joe**, I think it's fairly safe to say that Lizzie's guard is _finally _beginning to contemplate negotiating a surrender. Might be a while before they're completely down, though...buggers are armed to the teeth...._

**Chapter 10: The Black Snake**

The words wavered into existence, misty, unformed, levering her into wakefulness as she grasped after them.  "Mmm?" she asked, unsure whether her eyes were still closed.

"I said," the voice again, exasperation edging humor, "I thought we agreed no mauling."

Mauling?  What?  Still trying to decide whether her eyes were open—they _felt _like they might be open—she attempted to place this mauling nonsense.

Ah, yes.  Last night.  Gordo.  Sharing a bed.

"'M not mauling you," she mumbled, deciding she didn't really care if her eyes were open.

"Oh, really?" Gordo scoffed, and Lizzie realized his voice was right at her ear, his chest rising and falling at her back with every breath...and were those _arms_ banding her sides?

This time she was sure her eyes were open because she could see Gordo's hands clenched together at her stomach, his arms on either side of her, holding her tight to his chest.

"_You're_ mauling _me_!" she exclaimed.

He tsked against her neck.  "Nope.  Sorry.  It only looks that way, I'm afraid."  Lizzie frowned, fighting a disbelieving grunt.  "You see all that space in front of you?"  She looked up and saw most of the pallet spread before her.  "It will probably not surprise you, then, to discover that in the course of the night you have systematically elbowed and shoved me to the very edge of the bed.  I am, in fact, holding on for dear life only to keep from falling to the floor.  So while it may _look _as though you are one being mauled, I believe I am the one who has suffered an _all-night_ attack on my honor."  He cleared his throat primly.  "Or, if not my _honor_, at least my bed space."

Oh.

"So, my dear Lizzie," Gordo continued, "if you wouldn't mind scooting a bit closer to your half of the bed, I would greatly appreciate it.  And," he sighed dramatically, "I will even relinquish your waist."

Right.  Careful of his precarious position, she inched toward the center of the pallet, turning when he withdrew his grip around her middle.  "Sorry," she smiled into his sleep-hazed eyes.

"Eh," he shrugged one shoulder.  "Always an adventure, McGuire."  He pursed his lips, wiggling the fingers of one hand.  "'Course, I can't feel my left arm, so next time we have a sleepover, what say you we stay in separate beds?"

"Deal," she nodded, grinning at the mention of sleepovers.  She and Miranda still had them frequently, but Lizzie couldn't even remember the last time Gordo had joined them.  He probably wouldn't have much patience with the girl talk and nail-painting and chick flicks, but there was also the late-night honesty—darkened room confessions and philosophizing and stretches of long, breath-filled silence.  She missed him, then.

The smile faded from her mouth and she lay, facing him, blinking into his eyes until she was certain they were blinking in unison.  She could almost imagine herself a child again, resting in the grass on a summer afternoon with her best friend, wind tussling her favorite dress, spinning the clouds overhead, rifling dark curls above blue-grey eyes.

It struck her suddenly how remarkable it was to have known someone her whole life...wondrous, miraculous.  How had they done it?  How had they stayed friends for so long?

"Ah," came Nadie's voice behind her.  "You are both awake.  Good."  Gordo's eyes flicked away from Lizzie's and she rolled over, that youthful summer day wisping away like smoke.

Nadie stood in the curtain doorway, cloth looped thick over her arms.  "I have your garments," she announced.  "Once you are dressed, please join us for our morning meal."  Laying the clothes in two piles, she smiled, performed her bow, and ducked out of the room.

Lizzie lay there a moment longer, still as the sheets rustled behind her and Gordo leaned over her side.  One hand propped beside her stomach, he bent close to her face and whispered, "Is it not a _little _creepy that Nadie's wearing Maggie Fogel's face?"  Startled, Lizzie twisted to meet Gordo's gaze.  His eyebrows rose.  "I mean," he clarified, "she speaks like some mystic.  I keep expecting her to call you 'Liz-babe' or, you know, giggle or something."  A sly grin was stalking one corner of his mouth and Lizzie felt her own lips mirror it.

"Well," she whispered back, pushing at the giggles bubbling in her throat.  "She _did _spend most of her life as a toad-woman."

A crease formed between Gordo's eyebrows.  "Hmmm," he considered, "I guess that _would_ scare the giggles out of you."

A snicker escaped Lizzie.  "Not to mention the 'Liz-babe's," she added and managed to keep a straight face until Gordo burst out laughing.

"Shh, shh," she hissed through their laughter, reaching up to cover Gordo's mouth with her hand.  His eyes looked rather affronted above her thumb.  "We don't want to offend our hosts," she gasped.  "Shhh."

The hand beside her stomach rose to pry her fingers from his face.  "They won't know why we're laughing," he protested.  Lizzie simply stuck her tongue out at him and tugged at her captured hand.  Rather than convince him to let it go, however, she merely succeeded in unbalancing him, sending him toppling over her in a flurry of arms and legs.

Unable to resist, Lizzie cried, "No mauling!" which only set them off again.

Finally, they managed to stop laughing long enough to struggle into their clothes and, after some minutes, even enter the fire room tolerably contained.

There, Nadie waited with their breakfast—another oddly filling mixture of nuts and flower petals—and Evarado presented them with their carpet, a newly filled waterskin, and a small packet that contained the salvaged remains of their bread and cheese.  While they ate, Evarado explained that he would guide them part of the way.

"I would go with you further," he said, apology plain in his voice, "but the Black Snake only aids those in great need.  I am afraid she might sense me and refuse to help."

Lizzie and Gordo assured him that he and his family had offered more than enough assistance already, and gratified, Evarado smiled a peculiarly Ethan-like smile and returned to his meal.  Within a few minutes, Gordo and the hunter were rolling the carpet, Lizzie shouldering the waterskin, and all three bidding their farewells to Nadie and a quiet Sisika hiding behind her legs.

_On the road again_, Lizzie resisted the urge to sing.

And a very pleasant road it turned out to be.  The treehouse wasn't quite all Lizzie expected of it—a mere fifteen feet from the ground, it didn't have much in the way of a view into the forest—but once their feet touched earth again, the journey was lovely.  The treetops were miles overhead, lost in shadow and grey mist, but Lizzie barely missed them.  There was simply too much to look at—strange lush greenery wanton with brilliant flowers, birds of teal, fuchsia, and coral plumage, the heavy, sleek coils of snakes.  Despite the occasional glimpse of monkeys, Lizzie could think it nothing but beautiful.

They weren't walking very long when the sound of rushing water met their ears.  Within a few steps, the forest opened up on a wide, rapid river, muddy brown and capping white over rocks and snags.

"This is the river," Evarado explained unnecessarily, setting the end of the carpet he'd carried on the ground.  "Here I must stop.  Continue downstream and you should find the Black Snake."  He brought cupped hands to his breastbone and bowed.  "Good fortune and may your journey be swift."  Lizzie and Gordo barely had time to return his farewell before the hunter disappeared back down the trail.

"Curiouser und curiouser," mused Gordo in his dreadful German accent.  Lizzie chuckled and shook her head.

"I think you're mixing your literature, Gordo."

His eyes stopped roving the forest and met hers.  "Quite so," he chirped with a decisive nod.  "Still, even though this isn't Wonderland, you have to admit the sentiment isn't far off.  This is definitely stranger than the brothers and Lily."  Lizzie just shrugged, causing Gordo to stare at her in disbelief.  "C'mon, McGuire," he prodded.  "Ethan and Maggie as jungle-folks of great wisdom—tell me that's not weird.  And they've got a _kid_."  He mock-shuddered.  "Gives me goosebumps."

A smile bent her lips.  "Well, maybe we just needed to get to know them better...like we did the brothers and Lily."

Gordo looked skeptical.  "Maybe," he conceded.  "But I still think it's pretty eerie to see Ethan and Maggie's faces without smiles on them."  Well, when he put it that way....

Lizzie fought a shiver.  "Mmmhmm," she murmured, trying to put the image of dour, blank-faced Ethan and Maggie zombies out of her mind.  "And on that freaky note, how about we go looking for this Black Snake?"  Without waiting for his reply, she leaned down to pick up the free end of the carpet, turning to face downstream as she propped it on her shoulder.

"Are you sure you want to lead?" Gordo asked.

What kind of a question was that?  She frowned in the middle of taking a step.  "Sure.  Why?  You think you know the terrain better?"

He chuffed.  "Funny.  No, I just seem to remember something about you screaming the other day—you know, the scream that sent us plummeting to earth?  I just figured maybe you shouldn't be the first one to encounter the Black Snake."

She _shouldn't?  _"Why?  I'm not afraid of _snakes_," she scoffed, trying not to bristle at the paternal tone in his voice.  He made her sound like a child, some silly, whining, cringing child.

The carpet lurched against her shoulder.  "You're not?"  He seemed surprised.  "Then why did you scream?"

Bother.  The irritation gave way to a hot blush.  She wasn't afraid of snakes, no, but she really didn't want to tell him what she was afraid of.  She grit her teeth and locked her lips around them.

"Liz?"  She knew that tone.  Pleasant, friendly, with just a hint that in a few moments he was gonna get ornery.  Sure enough, when she didn't answer right away, the carpet stopped altogether, nearly sliding off her shoulder before she managed to stop walking.

"What?" she asked, twisting to meet his eyes.

"Liz."  Not even the skinny edge of a question in that one.

Lizzie bit her lip, considering her options.  She could refuse to answer...but she knew from past experience that he wouldn't move from that spot until she did.  She could get angry...but he'd probably just laugh at her...and not move.  She could try and change the subject—ah, who was she kidding?

"You'll laugh at me," she whined.

One eyebrow crooked upward.  "It's that good, huh?"

"No."  But that pout in her voice said otherwise, even to her own ears.  After a long beat of reluctant silence, she finally mumbled, "A monkey."

"What?"  Oh, yeah, he was _asking _for clarification, but she could tell by his growing grin that he'd heard her just fine.  Just prolonging the torture.  _Sadist._

Raising her chin, she repeated stoutly, "A monkey."

Chuckles burst through the corners of his grin.  "'A monkey'?  A _monkey _made you scream?!"  Snickers snuffled from his nose.

"Yes," she declared distinctly, not quite able to stifle her shudder.

Gordo was still laughing, hard enough now that she thought he might start snorting.  He opened his mouth several times before he managed to wheeze, "But they're just li'l things!"  His thumb and index finger pinched together to illustrate.  "Jus' this big," he slurred, gasping.

_Yeah, yuk, yuk, yuk._  Lizzie glowered at him and then the twitching carpet.  Turning to face front again, she pursed her lips and resolutely stepped forward, gratified when Gordo gave a surprised yelp, the carpet hitching before settling smoothly on her shoulder.

After a while, his laughter died away altogether and they continued on in silence.  Lizzie was just starting to relax, irritation sloughing from her shoulders, when Gordo spoke up again.  "One thing, though, Lizzie, that I don't understand."  He sounded completely serious.

"What?" she sighed, feeling a little more of the tension leave on the word.

"That chimp—you know, the one I helped you baby-sit during Mr. Keith's Scottish fest?  You weren't afraid of him."

True.  "Just chalk it up to the Summer That Changed Everything," she said.  Then, hearing his confused silence, she continued, "The summer before high school, I left my window open one night.  Fredo—the chimp—must have climbed in, because the next thing I know, I'm waking up to one up close and personal monkey.  Gave me nightmares for weeks."

"Oh."  She could hear the smile in his voice, but at least he wasn't laughing again.  "'The Summer That Changed Everything,' huh?"

That made _her_ laugh.  "Yeah."  She shook her head.  "I don't actually call it that.  It's just, recently, I've realized how much I really did change that summer.  No more stage fright.  No more disgust over science and dissecting things.  The beginning of my monkey phobia.  The end of those junior high crushes."

Gordo snorted.  "Liz, I'm pretty sure your crush on Ethan Craft carried over into freshman year."

That wasn't what she meant—not really—but she simply shrugged and joked, "Well, yeah, until March 11th of freshman year, but who was counting?"

"Not Ethan," Gordo drawled.

A laugh caught her by surprise, sharp, half-disbelieving, barking through her startled mouth to ring brassy in the air.  "Ouch," she smiled.  "Way to bring it home, slugger."

It was a long moment before he replied. "Well, you know, gotta keep my average up."

She chuckled ruefully.  "Considering how many times the runner's rounded that particular home plate, your average should be outta the park—pardon the pun."

The laughter she expected didn't come.  Only another beat of silence and a low sigh.  "I'm sorry, Lizzie," he said finally.

"What?  Why?"

"For always harping on you about Ethan."

Where had this come from?  "What are you talking about, Gordo?" she frowned.

Another sigh.  "It's just...I don't know...you must be so sick of me saying I told you so about Ethan all the time.  I know it really hurt you that he wasn't interested in you."

He sounded so serious, so contrite, and she was glad he couldn't see the smile growing on her face.  He probably wouldn't appreciate it.  "Yeah, Gordo, it did—_three years ago_.  Don't worry about it, okay?  You were right every single time you told me that crushing on Ethan Craft was a waste of my time.  I knew it then just as well as I do now.  I just didn't want to admit it to myself."  She twisted in his direction just enough to meet his eyes, dark beneath drawn brows, and still keep walking.  "You're my best friend.  I'm glad you told me the truth.  I'm glad you still do.  Even when I wasn't very gracious about hearing it."  She waited for his nod and a glimmer of a smile before she turned around again.

And stopped so fast Gordo nearly ran into her, the carpet sliding off her shoulder to thud against the ground.

"Lizzie!" he protested, the word ending in a sharply indrawn breath.  Lizzie didn't spare him a glance, but she had a feeling that he was staring in the same direction as her, his mouth hanging open just like hers.

There in the path in front of them coiled a great snake.  As thick as Lizzie's thigh, it shone obsidian in the misted sunlight, onyx eyes glittering at them from a sleek, blunt-nosed reptilian head.  Gordo swore behind her, but Lizzie found herself taking a step forward, bowing her head as she whispered, "The Black Snake."  _Beautiful._

When she raised her head again, the snake was gone.  In its place stood Bethel Washington, tall, shoulders straight, her dusky skin even darker beside the brilliant white of her sarong.  Her eyes were black, unfathomable and with her hair a smooth black cap against her head, Lizzie could almost see the snake in the lines of Bethel's nose and jaw.

"Forgive me my change in form," the woman—snake—apologized with Bethel's voice.  "My snake shape can be fearsome, but I trust this one is more familiar.  Does it suit, sir?"  Her eyes flicked to Gordo and Lizzie turned with them.  Gordo, pale, eyes wide, could only nod.  Lizzie felt a faint thread of amusement—_he_ was afraid of snakes!—but quickly lost it as the woman-snake spoke again.  "Good," she nodded, mouth blossoming in a smile utterly Bethel's.  "It suits me as well."  She stretched her hands out in front of her, curling and uncurling her fingers.  "This one is very nearly reptilian.  But of course you knew that."

Her eyes found Lizzie's and Lizzie heard herself stammering, "Y-yes...w-well, not until just now, actually, but yes, I think she suits you well."

"Indeed.  And she is not owned by anyone here."  Her gaze had shifted to her feet, toes wiggling.  "I believe I shall keep her shape for myself.  It is sometimes nice to wander in another's skin."  She looked up.  "You do not suppose she will mind?  The one you know?"

The woman-snake looked so distressed that Lizzie immediately responded, "No, no I don't think she'll mind at all."  It was only a moment later that she realized _what _the woman-snake had said.  "The one I know?" she repeated.  "You mean Bethel?  From our...universe?  You know we're not from here?"  Behind her, the other end of the carpet thumped to the ground, Gordo appearing at her side not a moment later.

Bethel's smile took on an unfamiliar angle.  "Why, yes."  There was laughter in her voice.  "I would not be much of a Black Snake if I did not know _that_."  Her smile faded away, voice even and earnest.  "You come looking for a way home, yes?"

"Yes!" both Gordo and Lizzie answered together.

The woman-snake blinked.  "I can help you, but I admit that I do not know how you may get home.  I am, after all, only a Black Snake.  There is only so much I _can _know."  Lizzie's shoulders sagged, Gordo sighing beside her.  One of Bethel's gentle, sweet smiles found the woman-snake's mouth again.  "But I can help."  She raised a finger.  "You must follow my every direction, I caution you.  Are you able?"  Lizzie nodded, Gordo squeaking a rusty affirmative.

"Good."  And with a pleased dip of her chin, the woman-snake began her directions, elaborating each and every step, from the use of the flying carpet to where they were to stay the night to the description of the hill they were to land on.  "There you will find a woman," she said at last, "of gold hair.  She will help you further.  Do you understand?  Good.  Now, tell me what I have said."

It took several tries but in the end both Lizzie and Gordo could repeat the woman-snake's instructions word-perfect.  Another bright Bethel smile lit her face and she clasped her hands to her breast in the same bow Nadie and Evarado had given them.

"Then go in peace, travelers," she said.  Her head tilted away, black gaze holding them even from the corners of her eyes.  She stared a moment then turned back, stepping forward to put a hand each on their shoulders.  "And if I may offer one last recommendation...."  She paused, looked to Gordo and then to Lizzie, eyes narrowing even as her pupils widened, jet in onyx.  "There are lessons here you need to learn."  The woman-snake's voice deepened and Lizzie felt the forest fall away, Bethel's familiar face fading, shimmering to blend with the snake's, night eyes clutching her, fathomless.  "Pay attention."  _Or you may never get home_.

Abruptly, the forest was back, Bethel's features still, solid, her teeth a kind crescent.  Lizzie exhaled, feeling as though she'd run a marathon even though her lungs and heart were even, breath and beat in simple rhythm.  _Or we may never get home?_ she thought, wondering where the words had come from.  They weren't Bethel's voice, but why would Lizzie have thought them?

Her eyes focused on the woman-snake again, saw the expectant tilt to her eyebrows.  Never mind, Lizzie shook herself.  They'd already been told to follow the Black Snake's every direction.  Perhaps that was what the words had been drawn from.  Never mind.  Clearing her throat, Lizzie managed a soft, "I will.  I promise."

The woman-snake nodded.  "Farewell, then," she said, stepping back.  "Good journey to you both."  In an instant, she'd slipped back to her snake form and then, a gasp from Gordo later, disappeared entirely.

Lizzie stared at the spot where she'd stood until Gordo coughed and muttered, "Why does everyone in this bloody place _disappear _like that?!  It's rude."

Grinning as she blinked hazy eyes, Lizzie turned to face him.  "Next stop, you can register a complaint."  Gordo half-frowned, rolling his eyes as he mimicked her under his breath.  Still mumbling, he bent down to unroll the carpet and Lizzie was struck suddenly by how normal he was.

Well, not _normal_-normal—he was Gordo, after all, which meant he had a good number of shares in the weird market—but he _was _Gordo, her best friend, a little bit of home, treating her the same as he ever did...even here, in this fairy-tale, bubble-universe rain forest beside a river and a flying carpet just moments after a shape-changing mystical wise-snake had given them advice.

She was _so _glad he was here.

Fierce gratitude flooded her eyes, fuzzing her vision before reaching down to grip her throat, thrum inside her chest.  He was here.  He was himself.  And no sooner had he straightened, turned around—his teasing frown instantly concerned—than she was pacing the few steps between them and curling herself small against his chest, nose bumping his jaw as her hands clutched at his sides.

Before he could say anything, she blurted, tongue clumsy against her teeth, "I'm so glad you're here.  Thank you for being here."

It took a moment, but then he was hugging her, one arm angled around her jutting elbow to press against her bowed back, the other warm on her shoulder, its hand smoothing the crown of her head.  He moved his chin, adjusting until her nose came to rest against his neck, in the dip of warm skin below his ear.  "Lizzie," he murmured soft, careful, and she could hear in his voice that he was confused.  She wanted to laugh even as the heavy, hot weight of tears threatened to spill over her eyelids.  _This _was exactly it.  He was so...Gordo.  No matter what, no matter his own misgivings or hurt or confusion, he was always there when she needed him.  Always.

Even in a fairy tale bubble universe.

"Lizzie," he said again, rubbing a hand slowly on her back.  She swallowed at the tightness in her throat, blinked against her filmy vision, and loosened her grip on his tunic just as his hands settled on her upper arms, pushing her away just enough to meet her eyes.

Trying a smile on for her, "There's nowhere else I'd be.  Promise."

Of course not.  He was Gordo.  She closed her eyes against one last rush of clutching gratitude, nodded as it ebbed, and then dropped her hands to her sides.

His smile widened.  "Are you all right now?"

Holding his eyes a moment longer, she straightened and took a deep breath.  "Yeah," she said, "Thanks."  A smile tugged on her mouth.  "I'm not quite sure what happened," she admitted, flushing.

He nodded sagely, a teasing light still in his eyes.  "Hormones," he pronounced, jumping back just in time to avoid a swat to the arm.

"Shut up," she laughed.

"You're saying I'm wrong?" he asked innocently, tossing his hands up as she took a menacing step forward.  "Hey!" he protested.  "None of that, my lady.  We've got a schedule to meet, directions to follow, a flying carpet to...fly."

She laughed again.  "Riiight."

Gordo only shrugged.  "C'mon, fellow traveler.  Help me prepare our transportation."  He gestured at the partially unrolled carpet, his smile widening impossibly as she shook her head and bent to join him.  Within only a few minutes, they were again above the trees, traveling on toward home.

******  
end of chapter 10**


	11. King Grizzlebeard

_Thank you to all my reviewers! **Elementals, **I'm honored you think so...does this mean I might be able to get this little ditty bound in leather and gold leaf?! :D **swim6516**, I'm so glad you liked the Black Snake, and the bits with Lizzie getting a clue; thank you, too, for your energy and excitement about this story (whenever I reduce someone to singing in a _review, _I know I did good!) **pixievix**, I can't tell you precisely when it'll all come out, but we're inching closer...enjoy the ride! ;) **MissEmmy**, my younger siblings refuse to believe how brilliant I am...I can't wait to show them that an unbiased third party agrees with me! ::evil, older sister laugh:: **MysteriouslyUnique**, I hope you enjoy this chapter too! Thanks so much for the feedback, **James**_—_I love hearing what I'm doing right (the more specific, the better!) **JustAGirl4**_—_wow! I'm so glad you're enjoying the story! Please,_ please_ don't bite all your fingernails off, though! **Black Knight 03**, I didn't even think about how rare some of these fairy tales are...I just picked 'em for their plot devices. ;D The fairy tale in this chapter might be a little more familiar; at any rate, I hope you enjoy it!_

**Chapter 11: King Grizzlebeard**

Lizzie was somewhere between sleep and wakefulness when Gordo's satisfied exclamation startled her eyes open.  It was not yet dusk, she noted, the air chilled by the slanting retreat of the sun.  Shifting her cheek reluctantly against Gordo's warm back, she fought a shiver and blinked at the land below them.

They were nearing a lone tower of rock standing sentry at the base of a three-pronged cluster of foothills—the Black Snake's last landmark for this day's journey.  No wonder Gordo had cried out.

"Nearly there?" she said muzzily, startling both Gordo and the carpet into a slight hiccup.

Regaining control and dipping the carpet into a steady descent, he turned just enough to say over his shoulder, "I thought you were asleep."

She shrugged, even though he couldn't see, and shivered again.  "Not exactly.  I think I was just drifting."  She yawned and gingerly tightened her arms around his middle.  Now that she was fully awake, she was _cold.  _"You seemed to have the navigation fully in hand."

He laughed.  "Yeah.  I guess I did."

"You guess?" she echoed, smiling.  "You were so focused, I don't think you even tasted your lunch."

"And I suppose I wasn't much of a conversationalist either, huh?"  More laughter in his voice.  "Sorry."

"That's okay.  We're here, aren't we?  Besides, apparently I needed the rest."

"Apparently."  Another laugh; this one Lizzie tried to meet only to discover abruptly how full her bladder was.  In previous travels, they'd been able to pause for the necessary bathroom breaks, but this time the Black Snake had specified absolutely no stops.  She'd forgotten about that until just now.  Wonderful.

To keep her mind off it, she concentrated on the growing dimness as they slipped into the shadow of the foothills.  Despite the sky's gold cast, grey twilight already gripped the land below.  By the time the carpet met earth—with Lizzie's heartfelt thanks—there was barely enough light to gather firewood...even if they _had _known what to do with it.

"Cheerful," Lizzie remarked, standing for a moment to steady herself on cramped legs and stiff feet.

Gordo smiled.  "Yup.  Man, when I get home, I am _definitely_ learning how to build a fire."

"Note to self," Lizzie agreed, taking a few hesitant steps.  Steady, at last.  Sighing, she excused herself and, without even awaiting Gordo's response, stumbled into the surrounding forest, intent on finding a suitable spot as quickly as possible.

When she returned, much more comfortable, she was startled to discover that Gordo was not alone.  He stood beside the carpet, apparently chatting easily with a tall, broad-shouldered man.  The stranger was dressed simply in a dark tunic and trousers, his straight, pale hair gathered back.

"Hey, Lizzie," Gordo greeted as she caught his gaze.  "This is Loyde.  Loyde, meet Lizzie."

"Delighted," Loyde bowed as Lizzie walked the remaining steps to Gordo's side.

"Yes, me too," she returned, dipping a quick curtsy.

"I was just inviting your husband to join my wife and myself at our camp.  You are welcome to our fire."

Husband?  Lizzie shot a quick glance to Gordo, not surprised to see his mouth quirk upward.  Right.  Just go with it.  "Ah, well, you see," she said, turning back to smile at the other man, "I'm afraid we must stay here."

Loyde nodded.  "Yes.  Your husband told me of the precise directions you have received.  But I believe you were told merely to _sleep _here.  Surely you can join our fire for supper.  Then, once you've eaten, you can come back here to retire for the night.  That should allow you to meet your requirements."

Lizzie glanced again to Gordo.  He looked as uncertain as she felt.  While Loyde seemed harmless enough, thus far on their journey all their...helpers...had worn the faces of their friends from home.  Or at least traveled with people who did.  Loyde wasn't at all familiar, which didn't bode well.

Seeing in Gordo's expression that he'd come to the same conclusion, Lizzie was just about to politely refuse the stranger's offer when a shriek pierced the darkening air.  A stream of virulent curses swiftly followed—most of which Lizzie had _never _heard before—and then another shriek, this one recognizable as, "Loyde!"

Unconsciously, Lizzie took a step closer to Gordo.  What the bloody—?

In front of them, Loyde was chuckling, a fond smile curving his lips.  "My wife," he explained, raising his voice to call, "Just over here, my darling!"

The curses resumed, growing louder as the woman approached.  Just before she came into view, Lizzie reached beyond her shock at the words to realize she _knew _that voice.  Eyes opening even wider, she turned to Gordo and whispered, "_Veruca!_" and then the woman herself was standing before them.

Bright red even in the dusk, her hair hung wild around her shoulders.  She wore a simple, dark dress but glared at Loyde, and them, as though she stood draped in an ermine cloak.

"What of supper?" she demanded.

"What of it?" Loyde replied calmly, his amusement dimmed to his eyes.

"I am hungry.  When my father _shipped _me off with you, I am sure it was with the understanding that I would be _fed_."

"Indeed, wife—"

"Don't call me that!"

"—and as soon as you fix it, you shall eat your supper."

Veruca's glare turned murderous.  "_Fix it?!_" she shrilled.  "I can't _cook!_  I'm not some common scullion, you—you—deflowerer of goats!"  By the look on the woman's face, the insult was not nearly satisfying enough.  She drew breath for what Lizzie guessed was another stream of abuse.

"Are you not?"  Loyde's soft voice slid into the brief silence like a knife.  All amusement was gone from his gaze.  "As I believe you are aware, _wife_," the word drew out, a slow, deliberate reminder, "your father has given me his blessing.  You are not his any longer.  You are under my roof now.  And under my roof, my wife fixes supper.  You would be wise to forget your prior standing, _wife_."  Again, that emphasis—that challenge.  "Better a _common scullion _than a _princess_ under my roof."

To Lizzie's surprise, Veruca said not a word.  Her glare remained, as did the stubborn jut of her jaw, but her lips were locked tight.  Lizzie exchanged a glance with Gordo, who looked as shocked as she, herself, must, before returning her gaze to Loyde.

"Darling," the man addressed his wife, all ease once more, "I have just invited these people to join us."  He turned his attention to them.  "It seems supper is not yet ready, but you are still welcome to share our fire and a little conversation."

Lizzie groped for her voice, not certain what answer to even give, then abandoned the search as Gordo sighed, nodded, and with an extended arm, said, "After you, Mrs. Gordo."

"Delightful," Loyde beamed.  "Just follow me.  Darling?"  After a long moment, Veruca reluctantly accepted her husband's arm, and the two of them led the way around the curving rock face to a small campsite where a fire was indeed burning.

An expectant look from her husband prompted a gruff but subdued, "Please, have a seat," from Veruca.  Lizzie and Gordo obediently settled on the ground, watching as Loyde assisted his wife to her seat before sitting himself.

"Such pleasant company is always welcome on the road, is it not?" Loyde asked genially.  "I am a musician, you see—a troubadour—and most of my life has been travel.  The journey is far swifter with talk, I've always thought."  He glanced at his wife.  "Shall you not get started on supper, darling?"  The murderous glare returned, but Veruca's lips remained closed as she stood and stalked some yards away, presumably to gather supplies.

Loyde spared her not a look.  "In fact, it is my traveling, and my trade, that has earned me such a delightful wife."  Lizzie marveled that the man actually looked genuine.  "You see, in my last stop, the kingdom north of here, I stumbled into a most fortuitous moment.  My wife, she who was the princess of that kingdom, had spurned all her suitors: she has a sharp eye and an even sharper tongue and used both to the devastation of any who sought her hand.

"Apparently, her father, the King, grew tired of her witty refusals and, in a fit of pique, declared that the next man to walk through the door would be her husband.  And who should happen in next?  Myself!  Not expecting but the chance to share my music for a little food and a warm bed, and instead the king bestowed his own daughter on me!  You can well imagine my amazement.  A princess...for my wife!"

A pot gonged from where Veruca stood, making Lizzie jump; Loyde seemed not to hear it.  "Now that I'm married," he said, "I've decided the troubadour's life is not suitable for a woman.  So, I'm taking my wife's dowry back to the town of my birth to set up a little marketing stall.  It won't be much, but it should suit us better than a life on the road.

"Of course, it won't be easy for my wife to grow used to my simple life, especially not when my king was one of her suitors."  He looked to Veruca.  "He was the one you called Grizzlebeard, was he not, darling?"  The pot rang again.  "She need not worry, though.  The king has little to do with the market stalls."  He smiled at them, but Lizzie thought she saw something sad in his eyes.

And little wonder at that, considering.  Grizzlebeard.  Loyde's story had seemed familiar, but it wasn't until he said that name that she remembered.  "King Grizzlebeard" was one of the fairy tales _she'd_ read.  It went exactly as Loyde said—save he'd neglected to explain that he _was _Grizzlebeard.

"Does he?" she couldn't help asking, smiling a little at the disguised king.  Yes, there.  She could see the faint grey at his temples—just a touch, really, probably invisible in daylight.  He doubtless looked older with his beard, that grey-grizzled beard the princess had ridiculed.  And now, here he sat, clean-shaven, a humble, pretend musician bent on humbling his very spoiled, haughty wife.  _Poor girl_, she thought, then, _Poor king_.  She didn't know who she pitied more.

Loyde was answering.  "Yes," he said, "very little," and Lizzie turned her gaze to find much more king than musician peering out at her.  She smiled wider, ignoring Gordo's wrinkling forehead.

"That's too bad," she sighed, wrestling against the knowing tilt of her mouth.  "I think your king would enjoy your market stall."

That king's eyes held hers another long moment, delving deep, searching, and Lizzie just kept smiling.  Finally, the garrulous, easy musician returned, echoing her smile with a chuckle.  "Yes," he agreed, "perhaps you are right."  He raised his voice, "Did you hear, Aurelia?  Perhaps the king might just visit our market stall!  He daren't stay for supper, darling, but he might visit.  How would you like that?"

There was a long beat of silence before Veruca—Aurelia—finally garbled a strained, "As you desire, husband."  Loyde gave a satisfied nod, a sliver of solemn purpose sparking in his eyes as they skimmed past Lizzie.  He understood that she knew, that she would not betray the charade, and Lizzie read his apology, for actions that seemed perhaps cruel to her, in that fleeting cross of glances.

Not that she had any need for an apology.  She knew the story, that Aurelia would blossom under the king's lessons just as much as his love.  Still, she found herself unable to simply sit while Aurelia struggled over their dinner.  Turning a reassuring smile on Gordo's confused face, she said, "I'll go see if Aurelia needs any help."  She stood before he could manage a nod, and heard Loyde cheerily compliment Gordo on his "very agreeable wife," just as she reached the former princess.

"Can I help with anything?" she asked.  Aurelia, kneeling amid a chaos of supplies, didn't look up from the second travel pack she was rummaging.  Lizzie was just about to repeat the question when the long, straight curtain of red hair slid aside to reveal a pair of dark eyes glowing wet in the firelight.  _Oh_, Lizzie swallowed the gasp.  Bubble universe or no, Aurelia was very like her alternate.  That same tough, hard shell on the outside; that same soft, vulnerable heart on the inside.  She wanted to hug the other girl, tell her everything would turn out right in the end—that her husband _was _a good man, a fine king, that he did love her.

But Aurelia wasn't Veruca.  She wasn't Lizzie's close friend, and her walls were much harder, and higher, than Veruca's.  Aurelia was arrogant and hurtful and, though she might never accept it, she was lucky to have someone like Loyde to love her.  Lizzie only wished the king's attempts to knock those walls down didn't have to hurt the princess so badly.

Stunned, uncertain, Lizzie couldn't think of anything to do but join Aurelia on the ground.  She was wishing for a Kleenex—handkerchief?—when Aurelia suddenly blinked, cleared the sheen from her eyes, and briskly replied, "Can you cook?"

Of all the things....  Lizzie couldn't help but laugh.  Leaning forward so she could whisper, she admitted, "No, not at all.  You?"

Despite the other woman's attempt to suppress it, humor dimpled Aurelia's cheek.  "Not a bit."

Lizzie laughed again, exclaimed, "Some wives we are!"  The words rang against the rock, their echo silencing the murmuring male voices behind her.  She immediately clamped her hands over her mouth, turning slowly to see both Gordo and Loyde staring.  She wasn't sure whether she was more embarrassed for disappointing the king's expectations of an agreeable wife or for playing along so obviously as Gordo's wife in the first place.

After a moment, Loyde spoke up, "What's this?"

Face flushed hot, Lizzie removed her hands and announced as sedately as she could manage, "I'm afraid, sir, that neither your wife nor myself can cook."

"Not even you, madam?" Loyde asked, following Lizzie's apologetic grimace at Gordo with an incredulous glance of his own.

"No," Lizzie began, immensely glad when Gordo stepped in.

"Well, she can cook," he explained.  "She's just not used to this manner of cooking, I'm afraid.  We've been getting by on bread and cheese so far."

Loyde the king was back, looking intently between Gordo and Lizzie.  "This manner?" he echoed.  "You must come from very far indeed.  I thought everyone cooked the way we do."

"Obviously these people don't, Loyde," Aurelia spoke up.  "Now perhaps we might begin supper and leave the questioning alone?"  A hint of the shrill woman of earlier had returned to her voice, but she was plainly speaking in their defense—a kindness directed against her husband, but a kindness nonetheless...and one Loyde would accept, Lizzie guessed, seeing a quiet, thin pride in his wife flit through his eyes.

"Yes, indeed, Aurelia," he affirmed, his king's gaze gone, "Now bring me the big pot and some of those vegetables at your knee.  I'll give you all a simple lesson in simple wanderer's fare."

  
*********#######*********

"So, you want to tell me what was going on, Lizzie?"

The light from Loyde's makeshift torch had faded entirely, leaving Gordo and Lizzie utterly alone in the dark of their own campsite.  Still, Lizzie waited a moment to answer, just to make sure Loyde was out of earshot—maybe even returned to his fire after guiding the two of them back.

Shifting gingerly to sit on the carpet below her feet, she sighed, said, "I assume you mean that exchange between Loyde and me?"

Gordo's faintly blacker silhouette settled to the carpet beside her.  "Sure," he agreed, "but, honestly, _any_ insight you can give me on this evening's encounter would be greatly appreciated.  I know you may not agree with me, but this trip's gettin' weirder all the time."

Lizzie huffed a weary laugh.  They'd stayed with Loyde and Aurelia for a few music and chatter-filled hours after eating, and despite having dozed much of the day, she was having trouble keeping her eyes open.  "That's only because for once we've found a fairy tale you _didn't _read."

"Ah," Gordo yawned, "so I take it you _did _read it?"

"Yup."  She gave a brief outline of the story through her answering yawn—snotty princess, king in disguise, long process of humility, snotty princess loses attitude, now-charming princess falls in love, king loses disguise.  "And they all live happily ever after," she finished.

"Of course."  His voice sounded strange.  Closer to the ground, somehow.  "Never doubted it for a moment."  Ah.  He was lying down!  Lizzie's weary eyes were immediately jealous and took the opportunity to remedy the situation as soon as possible.  Within moments, before she really knew she was moving, she was stretched out beside him, eyes closed as her back released the day's tension into the ground.  She reveled in the sigh rising in her chest.

After a moment of blissful, sleepy silence, Gordo spoke again, "Have to admit, though, that's not exactly the standard fairy tale king."

Lizzie managed a murmured, "Oh?"

"Well, no."  Now his voice was higher up—he'd probably propped himself on his elbows.  No matter.  She _wasn't_ moving.  "I mean, most of the time the king or prince is primarily concerned with just finding a beautiful, charming wife.  He doesn't exactly put in a lot of effort to, well, tame her, for lack of a better term.  Interesting."

"Yup," Lizzie sighed.

"Kinda cool, too."

"Mmhmm."

"It rather implies a relationship based more on friendship than your typical love at first sight."

That got Lizzie's attention.  "Friendship?" she asked, fighting the urge to sit up next to him.  "Loyde and Aurelia don't exactly seem to be anything _close _to friends, Gordo."

"C'mon, Liz," he said, voice accompanied by a rustle of fabric as he shifted position again.  "Loyde and Aurelia are not friendly, but you have to admit friendship involves more than just friendliness.  If that were all that mattered, you and _Kate_ would be friends half the time.  Fact is, good friends are just as concerned with the deeper stuff.

"Personally, I think Loyde knows Aurelia's not happy the way she is, and I think he knows that she never will be if she keeps acting like she does.  So, however painful it may be for her, he's making her really look at herself.  He's not typical, and it probably won't be immediately obvious, but I don't doubt he's the best friend Aurelia has ever had.  Moreover, he's the kind of friend that sees something in her that she can't see, something good that he will always make her work up to.  That's what I've always thought made for a strong relationship, especially a romantic one."

Right.  Romantic friendship.  Something about that....  "Anyway," Gordo continued, rustling again, the air flitting against Lizzie's face announcing he'd laid back down.  "Enough of that.  I'm exhausted.  Goodnight, Liz."

Lizzie managed a goodnight of her own, but her thoughts were still on his other words.  He hadn't said anything about Loyde and Aurelia that she hadn't already thought of, even if she hadn't articulated them in quite that way.  Still, something in what he'd said niggled at her.

Romantic friendship.  When she thought about it, of course she wanted her eventual husband to be her friend.  Of course.  But there was something about applying that idea to Loyde and Aurelia that surprised her.  Almost as though she'd forgotten about the less pleasant parts of a friendship.  The parts where your friends tell you to stop being silly or careless or cruel.

Oh.

_The part where your very best friend comes over to your house to tell you how badly you've been acting.  The part where you shout at him and throw him out, but only after a week of truly reprehensible behavior on your part...and the usual strong, supportive concern on his._

Oh.  No.  Oh, _no_.

The fight, distant and even fading these past days, came back to her with painful intensity, a deluge of image and emotion and words—such awful, awful words.  What had they said to one another?  Looking back, she really should have simply explained when he asked her to.  How hard would it have been, really, to just tell him she was worried about college, about leaving, about _hi_—But then she got defensive and he called her—had he really called her _that?_  Never in her life had any of her friends called her names like that.  And so she retaliated...by denying his concern, his worry, his friendship.  She'd practically said she didn't want to be his friend anymore.  Childish, but good God had it hurt to say that.  No wonder he'd looked so...strange.

She shivered, remembering that incomprehensible combination of stance and expression just before he left.  Never again.  They'd lived their entire lives without fighting like that, and she never wanted to do it again.

And soon, very soon, she would have to make amends.  She'd apologize and—her stomach skittered from the idea of explaining her behavior to him, but Lizzie pressed her lips together and nodded.  She still didn't quite understand her own actions yet, but not explaining had only made things worse.  Gordo was her best friend.  She ought to trust that sometimes he knew her better than she knew herself.  She'd apologize and she'd explain.  Soon.

Decided, Lizzie lifted a hand to soothe her uneasy stomach and sighed, staring up into the night.  Much of the view was blacked by the giant rock chimney beside them and the forest pressing close around, but a small puddle of sloe-black sky lay open, radiant with trembling stars.  She watched for a long time, long after Gordo's faint snuffling snores began and then ended, until at last she too slipped into sleep.

******  
end of chapter 11**

**chapter notes:  
**Though perhaps it ought to offend what feminist sensibilities I possess, I have to admit that "King Grizzlebeard" is perhaps my favorite fairy tale...and probably the best-known of those found in this story. The version I used came from _The Starlight Princess and Other Princess Stories_, retold by Annie Dalton, embroideries by Belinda Downes. (Check it out for the embroidered illustrations, if nothing else...they're amazing!)


	12. SunGirl and DragonPrince

_Thanks, all you lovely reviewers! **swim6516**, I could use a Gordo, myself! As it is, I have to follow my younger, engaged sister around and pester her with questions to make sure most of this story isn't completely off-base. Alas! For a best friend of my own to throw myself at! Perhaps someday.... ;) **JustAGirl4**, I'm not sure which book that might be, but if you like fairy tales, Robin McKinley does some _fantastic_ novel-length retellings. (My favorite's _Deerskin_.) Patricia C. Wrede's _Snow White and Rose Red _is also marvelous. I'm sorry, **mel**, no discussion of the Fight yet, but I don't think you'll be disappointed! :D **Elementals, **you _do _have a heart of gold...such words...you honor me. Thank you! **Elly **and **Alison**, I'm not sure if you've made it this far yet, but I'm so glad you enjoyed the first couple chapters...I hope you're still enjoying this little story! **VaSinFlor**, exactly! That's precisely what I wanted to come across about their relationship! I'm sorry the last chapter was dull, **MysteriouslyUnique**, but maybe this chapter's better? **pixievix**, of _course _you're cool and loved! How could you doubt it?! ;D **MissEmmy**, no one quite understands the plight of the older sister like an older sister...perhaps we ought to start a club?_

_Anyway, horrendously long notes there. Sorry! On to the chapter...._

**Chapter 12: Sun-Girl and Dragon-Prince**

Gordo woke her at first light—far, far too early in Lizzie's opinion.  Foggy-headed, blinking sleep from her eyes, she stumbled about in the grey, shadowy dawn, readying herself for the second half of the Black Snake's prescribed journey.  They were to travel over the foothills today, skim along the crumpled edges of the mountain range to the south until at last they reached a long, sea-shredded crescent of green peninsula.  The middle of the peninsula—they should reach it late afternoon—was their final destination.

"Ready?" Gordo asked, swallowing the last of his breakfast.  Lizzie looked at the remains of bread and cheese in her palm and nodded.  Last night's simple stew seemed to have ruined her tolerance for the monotony of their travel fare.  What she wouldn't do for some fruit or even a little butter.  Another few days of bread and cheese and she would start eating grass, just for a little variety.

Uch.  Her stomach gave a queasy roll against her ribcage.  Not that she wanted _anything_ at the moment.  On the contrary.  She seriously doubted even chocolate would tempt her right now.  Swallowing dryly, she settled herself behind Gordo on the carpet, clasped her hands around his waist, and shut her eyes.

"And we're off," Gordo announced, the carpet rising an instant later.  Ooh, closing her eyes as the ground dropped away beneath them was _so _nota good idea.  Gulping a steadying breath, she opened her eyes and waited for the carpet to level off. At last it surfaced into the warm sunrise, liquid honey light spilling all around them, seeping into Lizzie's eyes, running soothing, spreading fingers along her back, melting....

The last thing Lizzie saw before drifting wearily into the sunlight was the dim, tiny flickers of Loyde and Aurelia's fire, two slumped splotches presumably still asleep beside it.  _Good-bye_, she thought down to them, _Good luck...._

The rest of the day was a hazy smear of sunlit strangeness.  Never quite asleep, she tripped and tangled in a sick dream landscape, pursued by her fitful stomach and the cold, keening wind along the mountains.  Several times she surfaced to panicked paralysis, terrified for a few eternal moments that she would never breathe again.  Several times she tried to stay awake, but the sun in her eyes, Gordo's steady warmth, the sleepless night before would conspire to lull her back to dreaming.

When the carpet started down to earth again, Lizzie was never so grateful in her life.  Digging ragged nails into her palms to stay awake, she lifted her head from Gordo's back to look below them.

Green.  Green, green, and more green.  A waving sea of grassy plain swelling in low hills from the mountains to their left to lap in tiny furrows at the far distant ocean on their right.  And there, atop one verdant crest, a figure like a raft adrift, solitary, still in the wind-rippling green.

"That's our stop, I'd guess," Gordo called over one shoulder.  Lizzie merely nodded, sleep weighing again on her eyelids.  She burrowed her fingers deep in her palms.  _Stay awake!_

And awake she stayed as they flew down, touching the ground a short distance away from the lone figure.  It took Lizzie a moment to withdraw her arms from around Gordo, and a moment longer for him to stand and help her up.  By the time she'd risen to shaky legs, their guide had reached them.

"On behalf of she who sent me, I greet you," came the melodious welcome.  _Great, _Lizzie found herself thinking, _another freaking princess._  And then, almost before the thought completed, she realized two things.  One, the woman standing before them had _gold _hair—long, glorious curls of real, glimmering gold, fine as thread, precious as the rope of emeralds wound through them.  And two, apart from said gold hair, she looked exactly like Kate Sanders.

Lizzie's swift gasp rang in stereo with Gordo's.

If the Kate-clone heard it, she gave no sign, sage-green eyes regarding them coolly from beneath a perfectly smooth brow.  "You will come with me," she asserted, as though the words were merely a formality, as though she expected they already knew exactly what they were supposed to be doing.

Realizing her mouth hung open, Lizzie snapped it closed and turned a questioning glance to Gordo.  Was she dreaming again?

But Gordo looked no less confused than she felt.  After blinking at her a long moment, he gave a minute shrug of one shoulder, the curve of his mouth seeming to say, _Toldja it was getting weirder here_.  Leaving Lizzie fighting a scowl—she would _not _scowl in front of Miss Perfect-Kate-Princess lady—he turned and knelt to begin rolling the carpet.

"You will not require that," Kate-clone said, soft voice piercing the noisy, wuffling wind as though it had never been.  "You will come with me," she repeated, in an exact echo of her previous tone.

_Well, hell,_ Lizzie thought, _you may think we know the script, Miss Perfect-Kate-Princess lady, but gimme a break!_  And she would _not _scowl.  She would _not_.

Tilting her chin to mimic the angle of the gold-haired woman's, she reached a confident hand behind her, waiting only for Gordo's grasp around her fingers before stepping toward Kate-clone.

Immediately, with a swish of heavy emerald brocade skirts, the other woman turned and began walking, back perfectly straight, head forward as though she were once more alone in this immense green expanse.  Lizzie marched along behind, trying to ignore her still-present nausea, hardly even aware of Gordo at her side until he squeezed her hand.  Startled, she swung a glance to find his eyes bright, mouth crooked at the corners, shoulders shaking in silent laughter.

"What?" she hissed, the whisper nearly lost beneath the wind.

"You're scowling," Gordo muttered through a knowing grin.

For a moment, Lizzie was so surprised she couldn't find her voice.  Finally, scowl giving way to a fierce frown, she managed to work her mouth around a vehement, "Dammit!"

Something like a low snort emerged from behind Gordo's clamped lips.  Dammit, indeed.  And, why, in heaven's name, couldn't she stay angry with him looking like that?  Frown fading before reluctant amusement, Lizzie scrounged up a pout from somewhere and turned it on him full force.  _Serves him right_, she thought.

But Gordo only smiled apologetically, dipped his head in a courtly bow, and raised the hand he held to brush a kiss over her knuckles.  "Poor Lizzie," he murmured, heaving a dramatic sigh against the hand he held to his breastbone.  Whereupon the grin resurfaced and _Lizzie_ found herself fighting laughter.

Dammit, indeed.

"You're incorrigible," she muttered, and would have said more if only Kate-clone hadn't chosen that moment to stop.

Another swish of skirts and she faced them again.  "We shall spend the night here and tomorrow begin our journey."  Lizzie bridled at the imperious pitch of the words...but at least that other weird tone was gone.

Trying for a prim, unaffected nod, Lizzie tossed a careless, "Sounds good to me," and settled cross-legged on the long grass.  _Peachy_, she thought, watching first Gordo, then Kate-clone sit as well.  _At least until I have to go to the bathroom._  Which, judging by the renewed churning of her stomach, might be sooner than she'd expected.

And as though that weren't enough, in this freaking open, grassy paradise there wasn't exactly a place to go to the bathroom.

Dammit.  Indeed.

But she didn't want to think about that.  Swallowing resolutely, she turned her attention to her companions.  Gordo was slumped on one side, his legs behind her, one elbow propped beneath him as he watched Princess Kate-clone stare at the distant horizon.  His brow was bent in that trademark Gordo-thinking way and Lizzie wondered what he was puzzling over.

A minute later it cleared and he said, "You're Arevhat, aren't you?"  Ah.  So he'd figured out which fairy tale they'd stepped into.

Kate-clone blinked, eyes refocusing on Gordo.  "Of course," she answered—that _tone_ back again.

"Still married to the Dragon-Prince?"

Something unexpectedly like pain flickered in...Arevhat's...eyes.  "Yes," she said, voice almost another thread of wind.  Silence filled the space around them.  Then, looking away, Arevhat swallowed and asked, still not much louder than the wind, "Did you not know that already?"

Gordo's posture didn't change, but somehow he seemed to lean closer to the gold-haired princess.  "No," he replied, very quietly.  "We are strangers here.  We have only heard a very little of your story."

Heh.  _He_ had anyway.  Lizzie was still pretty solidly in the dark.

"I see."  Arevhat swallowed again.  Still not looking at them, she said, "I had thought the mother of the Sun had told you my story already."

If possible, Gordo's voice went even quieter.  "No.  She hasn't."

"I see," Arevhat said again, and Lizzie wanted to shout, _See?  See what?  Why must you both be so bloody cryptic?_

But instead she found herself lurching to her feet, mouth opening to ask where she might find a bathroom, please, before she realized her stomach was simply _not _going to wait for the question, let alone an answer.  Staggering up the low rise beside the night's camp, she'd just reached the other side when her stomach rebelled.

There was nothing available to rebel, of course, as she hadn't eaten all day, but her stomach insisted on going through the motions anyway.  Coughing a long few minutes later, after the heaving stopped, she became aware of the tears sliding along her cheeks, her arms trembling as they held her up, the acrid taste in her mouth...and Gordo, kneeling beside her, holding her hair back—so damn much hair, blast it all—of all things.

"Y'okay, Liz?" he asked softly, one hand smoothing a loop of hair from her face, his thumb sweeping the wetness off her cheek.  His eyes were intensely blue.

Lizzie tried to look away, a scalding blush rising from what felt like her toes.  Damn.  They'd known one another their whole lives, but never once had she been violently sick in front of him.  In fact, she'd never been really sick in front of him at all.  Sniffles, colds, one itchy case of Chicken Pox, but nothing so...humiliating.

But he wouldn't let her go, those eyes holding hers with such concern.  _I want my mom_, she thought distinctly.  But she wasn't here.  And Gordo was.

"No," she said at last, tears clutching her throat so the word almost didn't escape.  Immediately, his hands released her hair and her face, dropping to her shoulders to pull her close.  Lizzie sank gratefully against him, shaking as more tears slipped down her face.

"You haven't felt well all day, have you?" he asked, rocking her gently.  "I know you were trying to sleep on the carpet, but you kept waking up.  Didn't seem like you were having very good dreams."

He'd noticed?  He certainly hadn't said anything.  Apparently, the look she gave him asked the same question, as he laughed and said, "Well, it was kind of hard to miss, since you kept squeezing and clutching at me.  That and the occasional whimperkind of gave it away."

Lizzie mustered a smile, sniffling as he tucked a damp strand of hair behind her ear.  "You feeling a little better now?" he asked.

With a shuddering breath, she said, "A little.  My mouth tastes terrible."

A sympathetic chuckle.  "I bet."  He reached up, his hand coming down with their waterskin.  Lizzie cocked her head to see Arevhat standing a little behind Gordo, cool gaze surprisingly concerned around the edges.  But then Gordo was offering Lizzie water, and when she looked up again, the princess was gone.

They sat there for a little longer—exactly how long, Lizzie couldn't tell—until finally she had stopped shuddering and shaking and her stomach had calmed down a bit more.  With one final squeeze of her shoulders, and a wisping kiss across her hairline, Gordo asked, "Ready to go back now?"  Lizzie gave a mute nod and struggled to her feet, walking slowly back to the campsite with one of Gordo's arms still loosely curved around her back.

Arevhat looked almost as though she hadn't moved, skirts perfectly arranged about her knees, curls a picturesque tangle over one shoulder.  But there was a sliver of something like a kind smile on her face as Lizzie met her gaze.  Startled, Lizzie returned it on reflex, too distracted to notice as Gordo pulled her down beside him.  Smile fading, she found herself comfortably curled on the soft grass, head pillowed on Gordo's extended legs.

"Okay?" he asked, fingers brushing lightly through the hair above her ear.

"Mmm," she hummed.  "Thanks."

"Sure."  His voice was very soft.

For several minutes, there was no sound but the wind slithering through the grass, blowing hollowly along the mild hills.  With Gordo's warmth under one cheek and the late afternoon sun draping a gilt blanket over her, it was beyond easy to drift into a thin, hazy doze.  When at last Gordo spoke, his voice came from very far away.

"This place is very...open," he said quietly.

"Yes," came Arevhat's reply.  "It used to be a desert, you see."  A pause, then, "Perhaps long, long ago, it was something else, but I knew it first as a desert.  It is beautiful now.  So green.  But in some ways, I believe it was almost more beautiful then."

"There's nothing quite like a desert," Gordo agreed.

A low, musical laugh.  "It was a terrible desert," she corrected dryly.  "Nothing but sand and sand and death.  The sun glared hatred here."  A sigh.  "But my love and I shared it by night, under starlight and moonglow, an eternity of ripples and frozen tides of molten silver.  He was forbidden the day, and for a time I wandered those hours alone.  But I was here too long to be ever lonely, and soon I too slept the day away, waking to the night.  It _was _beautiful then."

Her love?  The Dragon-Prince Gordo mentioned earlier?

"But it's not a desert now," Gordo said, and Lizzie was too far away to make him ask about the Dragon-Prince.

"No.  It hasn't been for some time now."

"How did that happen?"

A long silence.  "You say you know some of my story."  An edge of steel lined those words.  "Why do _you_ not tell _me_?"

"All right," Gordo agreed almost instantly.  "If you promise to tell me the rest I don't know."

"So be it."  Arevhat's words held indulgent amusement.

A breath-filled pause; Lizzie could nearly see Gordo gathering his thoughts.  "I know of a young girl blessed with gold hair by an old woman she was kind to.  I know of that young girl charming a monster of a Dragon-Prince back into his human form.  I know the Dragon-Prince was so grateful, he married that young girl, but on the day after their wedding, her spiteful stepmother threw her in a river.  Instead of drowning, the young girl washed into a desert wasteland where she met a hunter cursed years before, forbidden from seeing the sun."

Another breath.  "I know that at the end of three years, that young girl had a child with the hunter, and out of consideration for her child's father, went on a journey to break the curse.  I know she found the mother of the Sun, who gave her a cure, that when she cured the hunter, his laughter turned this place into the green plains we see, but that the cure also brought her husband back to her.  I know she gave her son to his father and returned herself to her husband.  But that is all I know."

Silence.  Then, a shuddering breath before Arevhat spoke, voice brittle and bright, "You tell my tale very ill...for which I thank you.  Many times I have heard it sung in verse, which is no pleasure to my husband and nothing but cruelest pain to myself."  A bitter laugh.  "I do not need rhyme to remind myself of my love's rich laughter or the brilliance of my son's eyes.  I do not need song to capture those days of terror on the river.  And no harmony, no matter how beautiful, can match the bliss of my love's embrace.  No.  Despite my every desire, I can neither forget nor regain those years."

Again that bitter laugh, words following quick and fierce.  "And you, traveler, you wish to know the rest of my story?  Very little to tell.  My desert is gone.  My love is gone.  My son is gone.  And I have seen not one of them since.  Do you require more?"

"No," Gordo croaked, the word immediately followed by a swish of skirts, a rustle of grasses parting.  Lizzie lay, still, eyes hot, definitely more awake than asleep now, listening to the ragged rasp of Gordo's breathing.  At the barest touch of his hand to her hair, she shifted and risked a hushed question.

"Has she gone?"

It took a moment for him to answer.  "Yes."

Shifting a little more, Lizzie opened her eyes.  Through the glare of the sun, she could see his eyes were a dull, watery grey.  "Good," she said vehemently, rising slowly.  "What the hell was Green-Queen thinking talking to you like that?"

Gordo gave a gurgling chuckle, shrugged, but his eyes didn't change.  "Damn, Lizzie, I didn't think she'd react like—I mean, I knew her story wasn't happy, but...."

Lizzie reached for his floundering hand.  "You had no way of knowing," she said, giving his hand a firm squeeze.  "Besides, she looks like _Kate_, which means no matter what you do, she's bound to be beyond nasty.  It's not your fault."

Gordo looked down, drew a deep breath.  When his eyes found hers again, the blue had made its way back.  "How're you feeling?" he asked.

Lizzie rolled her eyes.  "Furious.  But aside from that, exhausted."  Smiling a little, "Would you mind terribly being my pillow for a little while?"

"Got nothing else to do," he shrugged.

"Oh, thanks!"  And planting both hands on his chest, she shoved him to his back and settled herself comfortably against his side, her head on his shoulder.  Burrowing her fingers into a fold in his tunic, she gave a loud, content sigh.

"Comfy?" Gordo laughed.

"Mmm," she affirmed, "you're a little bony, but other than that you make a very nice pillow."

"Thanks," he drawled, but Lizzie didn't bother to reply.  For the first time all day, peaceful sleep seemed a possibility.  She gave herself up to it, tumbling dizzy into blessed darkness.

******  
end of chapter 12**

**chapter notes:  
**The version of "Sun-Girl and Dragon-Prince" I used here can be found in _The Serpent Slayer: and Other Stories of Strong Women_, retold by Katrin Tchana, illustrated by Trina Schart Hyman.


	13. The Invitation

_I'm sorry this chapter is so late; I needed to get a little distance between it and me so I could fix it up properly. Still not entirely satisfied, but, eh, when'm I ever? ;) Thanks for your patience and your reviews! And forgive the rather longer than usual notes, please...._

**_Jenna_**_, no, I don't believe you have reviewed before...and, trust me, I'd remember! Thank you so much for your feedback; all my hopes for this little story were caught in your words..._thank you_...and please, please review again! **Black Knight 03**, I'm glad you think the fairy tales are working together well; sometimes they feel so piecemeal when I'm writing...I hope you enjoy this chapter too. I think I've always been interested in fairy tales, **JustAGirl4**, not sure why. As for the fairy tales in this story, while I'd like to say I was being original using all these lesser known ones, really I picked 'em for the lessons Lizzie could gain from them...lotsa research involved. ;) Still, I have to admit even I was surprised by how the characters and lessons and story have spun themselves together independent of all my forethought. **Elementals**, y'know I didn't even think about that...although I do have to admit to imagining my life a fairy tale from time to time. 'M not sure which character I'd be, though...a mermaid, a bard, maybe a sorceress? :D **swim6516**, trust me...it's _not_ effortless! But I'm glad it feels that way! :) As for criticism, when you've got it go right ahead and dish it, babe. Not that I'm complaining if you don't...nope, nope, nope. Yeah, Green-Queen's sorta nasty, **pixievix**, but comeuppance is coming, promise. ;D **Ziny**, sorry this chapter's so late, but I hope you like it...and ditto on the peace, love, and music!_

_Whew. Now, onto chapter 13. Just...don't hate me, 'kay?_

**Chapter 13: The Invitation**

When Lizzie next opened her eyes, she was alone. _Well_, she amended, sitting up slowly, _not entirely alone_. In the pale violet pre-dawn, she could make out Arevhat some few feet away, lounging prettily asleep on grass the same shade as her dress. Wrinkling her nose, Lizzie turned away, eyes seeking a much more welcome figure.

There, at the top of one of the rising hills beside them, Gordo sat silhouetted against the glowing amethyst sky. Hand pressed against her _still _unhappy stomach, Lizzie quickly made her way to join him.

"Good morning," she whispered, settling cross-legged to his right.

He jumped. "Morning."

"Watching the sunrise?"

A nod. "I couldn't sleep any longer. You, on the other hand, didn't even move when I shoved you off of me. Talk about the sleep of the dead." He smiled at her. "Apparently, you needed it. Are you feeling any better?"

Wincing at a sick lurch below her ribs, she said, "Oh, I think that's negative."

"I'm sorry, Liz." One hand squeezed her knee, and Lizzie curled a quick, thankful pressure to his fingers.

"Me too." She laughed a little. "Just my luck. I haven't had the flu in years, and suddenly we're in a bubble universe and I can't find anything better to do with myself but get sick."

Gordo shook his head. "I don't think you're sick, Liz."

"What?"

"Well, I could be wrong, but I was thinking last night—after you'd gone to sleep and before Arevhat got back—and I wonder if maybe you're still recovering from that healing that, uh, Nadie did after our fall."

Blinking, Lizzie frowned. "But just about all I've been doing these past few days is sleep. Why would I be sick and you fine? Especially since you've been awake everyday flying the carpet."

"I'm not sure, Liz," he shrugged. "Maybe you were hurt worse than I was. Maybe your body still needs to catch up."

"I suppose that's possible," she conceded. "I just wish I didn't have to feel sick."

His hand found her knee again. "Hey. It'll go away. You'll get better. And in the meantime, maybe watching the sunrise will help you forget it for a while." Lizzie squeezed his fingers in another thank you, this time leaving them there as her eyes sought and settled on the faint ragged seam of the mountains to the east.

For a time, she did forget, lost in the blooming splendor of a fiery dawn. She could almost imagine this morning a gift: buds of plum, of magenta, of scarlet blossoming to ruby, apricot, saffron, unfurling pearly petals in a bouquet so radiant it stole her breath. When at last it ended, she had no notion how long she'd been sitting on the hilltop. Her legs were stiff, her skirts wet with dew, and Arevhat sat beside her, though Lizzie could not remember the woman joining them.

"An invitation," the princess announced, liquid voice loud in the delicate, lingering stillness.

Lizzie almost couldn't bring herself to respond; how could Arevhat not feel the intrusion of her speech? But at last she managed a nearly silent, "Invitation to what?"

"To journey to the mother of the Sun, of course." Those words were even louder, and something fragile and beautiful around them cracked a little.

It was even harder to ask this time. "You're going to guide us there?"

"Not 'us,'" Arevhat corrected, "just you." And the magic of the morning shattered to dust.

"_What?!_" Gordo and Lizzie shouted as one.

Unruffled, Arevhat repeated, "I am only to guide you," a nod to Lizzie. "You," a nod to Gordo, "are not welcome to come."

"He can't stay here!" Lizzie protested, Gordo's adamant, "We are _not _splitting up!" nearly drowning her words.

"I don't see that you have much choice in the matter." The princess smoothed a careful hand over a crease in her skirt. "The mother of the Sun has invited you—"

"For heaven's sake, her name's Lizzie!" Gordo cried.

"—and you shall either come or you shall not." Her eyes met Lizzie's impassively. "And if you come, you come without him." Another careful caress of emerald silk, embroidered, Lizzie noted absurdly, with thread a million shades of green—moss, sage, jade and loden, ivy, teal, peridot, aquamarine, malachite and seafoam. With a wrench, Lizzie dragged her gaze back to Arevhat's. "Be warned," the princess said, "if you do not come, you will not go home."

Gordo's fingers, still in Lizzie's grasp, twitched. "Lizzie," he murmured urgently. His eyes, when hers found them, were a grey thin with indecision.

"I know, Gordo," she whispered back, turning fully from Arevhat as though it would make the princess disappear. Leaning closer, she said, "You know the fairy tale. Is this mother of the Sun evil or what?"

"No," Gordo shook his head. "Just your standard goddess-type. Vindictive to those who threaten her, but moved by human pain. She cured Arevhat's hunter-guy, although she cursed him in the first place because he threatened to kill her son." He sighed. "You'd be safe with her, I think."

"But what about you?" Lizzie asked, brow folding. "What are you going to do here all alone? We know nothing about this place. There might be...I don't know...wolves or something."

His laugh surprised her. "Wolves," he chortled. "With our experience thus far, any wolves'd probably be preceded by a little girl in a red cape, which ought to provide me more than enough time to get the hell outta here." His thumb swept hers. "I think this mother of the Sun is the sort who'll provide safety for me as well. I'm just.... I just don't like the idea of separating."

Lizzie snorted. "Like _I_ do?"

"No, of course not." Another sigh. "But what other choice do we have? Arevhat is obviously the guide the Black Snake sent us to find, and if the mother of the Sun only wants to see you, I don't think it's wise—or prudent—to disobey her. We need her help."

Silence stretched between them. Finally, Lizzie nodded. "Maybe it'll just be for a little while?"

Gordo's mouth tipped in a weak smile. "Maybe."

"Okay." Trying for an answering smile, she asked, "Help me up?"

Gordo's smile grew stronger. "My life's purpose, m'lady," he teased, standing to pull her up after him. But her legs were still stiff and instead of rising gracefully, she tripped over her skirts and landed slumped against him, her hands clenched painfully in the sleeves of his shirt.

"Thanks," she grinned, gingerly gaining her feet before releasing her death-grip.

"Life's purpose, all that," he drawled. "But, uh, while you're here, might as well hug me good-bye."

The words knotted her throat. Nodding mutely, she straightened just enough to shift her arms over his shoulders. Stomach queasy, mouth dry, eyes burning, she couldn't remember a time when she felt more miserable. Except maybe the night that started all this mess.

Tightening her arms, she dropped her head to his shoulder and swore inwardly. The Fight. She'd meant to apologize and talk about it, but feeling sick and all, she'd completely forgotten. Bloody hell. And now she wouldn't see him for who knew how long.

Clearing her throat, she ventured a tremulous, "Uh, Gordo?"

He drew away just enough to meet her gaze. "What?"

"I just, uh," aw, hell, she couldn't even meet his eyes, "I wanted to apologize for, um, you know, fighting with you. That night. You know? I was really terrible, and I didn't mean anything, and I wanted to—"

"Liz." The laughter in his voice killed her words. Hesitantly, she looked up at him. Yup, laughter there too. "Liz," he said again, "I'm not sure whether you're trying an eleventh hour confession or attempting to give us a conversation to finish so we'll see one another again. But both are completely unnecessary. We'll talk about this when we talk about it. Don't worry. Say good-bye and get going. Sooner you leave, sooner we see one another again, sooner we get home." He pulled her close for another hug. "See ya, Lizzie."

As much as she tried, all she could manage was a mouthed, "Bye," against his neck. And then he was gone and Arevhat was declaring—rather impatiently, in fact—that they needed to leave. Now. And then Lizzie was turning around and walking and trying desperately not to look back.

"You can't look back," Arevhat announced.

Wondering if she'd said anything aloud, Lizzie stammered a confused, "W-what?"

"You can't look back," the princess repeated. "We have begun a journey along a road not present in this place. If you look back, the road falls from below your feet. Do not look back." A chuff of air like laughter. "Besides, he is gone. Much like my own love." Lizzie's startled glance found sage eyes mocking her. There was Kate in those eyes, but a crueller, bitter woman owned them, and the...delight...in that woman infuriated Lizzie.

Precisely, careful not to look back and not to stop walking, Lizzie seized the princess's wrist in a grip steeled with rage. "How wretched you are!" she ground out, the words seeming to come from someone else, somewhere far away. Still, they spilled from her mouth, unbidden, unknown until she heard them in her own voice. "How terrible! What a monster you've become! Wallowing in others' losses like a sow in mud, eating others' pain, savoring their hurt and their agonies. You, gifted a hundred times over with good fortune and riches and love!

"Yet ever and again, you ignore the choices _you've _made. Who chose to marry the Dragon-Prince, Sun-Girl? Who chose to love the hunter? Who chose to seek the mother of the Sun? Who chose, Sun-Girl, to _give her child away _and then _stay with a man she did not love?_ No one made those choices but you, and you revel in your agony, cursing fate, hating everyone around you, wishing them pain. Disgusting creature!"

The rage abruptly lifted; dizzy, caught in its wake, not to mention furious in her own right, Lizzie squeezed the wrist in her grip for emphasis and shouted, "Grow up, already!"

At least those words were her own. Shaken, mouth dry, she tried not to think too much about the other...foreign...words.

"I am sorry." Arevhat's whisper, shredded of all its music, startled Lizzie from her thoughts. Releasing the princess's arm, she looked up to find the sage eyes this time were utter pain and remorse. "I'm sorry," Arevhat said again, tears spilling down her nose—which was fast reddening in a very un-princesslike way. "I must be," she hiccupped, "I must be very horrible indeed for the mother of the Sun to speak to me so." Her tone registered Lizzie not at all, the quiet words merely a thought spoken aloud.

But Lizzie couldn't help responding. "The mother of the Sun?" she echoed. "Was that who was," she gulped, "speaking...with my voice?" _And my mouth and, er, through me?_ Lizzie shuddered. Damn, that was creepy.

A hint of puzzlement marred Arevhat's brow. "This is her domain," she explained, as though it was obvious. "She has power over all creatures in this place." Fresh tears welled in her eyes. "Even so, she only uses such power in extreme—" Her voice fizzled away. "I must be horrible indeed," she croaked.

Lizzie rolled her eyes. Hel-_lo! _Just-possessed by the mother of the Sun, here! It'd be kinda nice to get a straight answer on whether that was likely to happen again anytime soon. Sheesh. Were all Kates so self-focused? "Yes," Lizzie said dryly, "I think we've established that. Horrible creature you are, blah, blah, blah. The mother of the Sun thinks so, you think so, I think so. There. We're all agreed. Now, before you sink once more into abject self-pity, d'you think you might tell me whether the mother of the Sun is going to keep on, eh, talking through me? You know, without my permission? 'Cuz I'm a little freaked out by that stuff."

Arevhat still looked puzzled. "As I said, the mother of the Sun only uses such power in extreme need. She shall probably not do so again. Not now that I am...aware...of her rebuke." And once more tears were coursing down the princess's face, her nose resuming its redness.

"Not exactly the most solid answer I could've wished for," Lizzie muttered, "but I guess it's better than nothing." Looking askance at the girl beside her, she added, "And I don't suppose you're exactly capable of anything more specific, huh?"

Immediately, Arevhat's quiet tears became loud, honking sobs, a stream of jumbled, indeterminate syllables pouring out with each hitching breath.

_For crying out loud_, Lizzie thought, blinking, her mouth hanging open. Surely her words hadn't hurt the princess _that _badly. All she'd meant was that Arevhat, not being a goddess herself, probably didn't know whether the Sun-Mother would be practicing the ventriloquist act again. She hadn't intended to imply that—okay, so maybe she _had _sort of intended to imply the princess was a bit of a moron. But after her treatment of Gordo last night....A particularly loud sob broke Lizzie's train of thought.

Bother.

"I'm sorry, Arevhat," Lizzie said, surprised to find she rather meant it. "Please stop crying. I shouldn't have said what I did. It wasn't very nice. And you're trying to help me—help us—"

"But I'm not!" Arevhat hiccupped, somewhat coherently. "I mean, I _wasn't_! I wasn't trying to help you at all. I mean, the mother of the Sun sent me to get you, but I didn't want to help. I wanted to be mean and cruel and s-so h-horrible—" Ah, back to that again. "Because I'm a terrible person. And I'm s-so unhappy. The mother of the Sun is right. I've made my own choices, every one, and I hate what's come of them. I hate my husband and I hate my home and I hate everyone around me." A swelling sob. "I hate myself." And the weeping resumed, too powerful to permit words.

It was comical, in a way. Who'd have ever thought she'd be walking with a hysterical, red-nosed Princess Kate in a bubble universe? Absurd. Ridiculous. And yet, Lizzie had to admit that part of the laughter stoppered in her chest arose out of pity and sympathy and a rather pressing desire to burst into tears, herself.

She was participating in a _fairy tale_, and somehow hearing those desperate words from a princess with gold-thread hair made Arevhat's situation that much more tragic. Princesses in fairy tales were supposed to live happily ever after. They might have rough times in the beginning—like Aurelia—but the ends were supposed to be good, to make up for all the difficult bits.

Uncertain, confused, swallowing the sick churn of her stomach and the tightness in her chest, Lizzie reached for the princess's hand. "How can you hate yourself?" she asked, unable to find anything else to say.

Arevhat's look was incredulous. "I am a coward!" burst on one breathless sob. "I am weak and foolish and cruel and hateful! I knew I could not love the Dragon-Prince, but when he came for me, I couldn't tell him so. And yet, it was so easy—so _easy_—to tell my love that I had to leave him, that he could take my son. He thought I wanted nothing to do with either of them. He thought I did not care, and it was so _easy _to let him leave believing that."

Lizzie shook her head. "I don't believe you. You must have been in agony. I don't believe you'd be in so much pain now if you didn't feel it then."

"Of course I felt it!" Arevhat glowered through her tears. "But I thought it was the only right decision. I had married a man, and I couldn't betray him...more than I already had! And so the only thing to do was go quietly. Of course I felt it! As though something tore inside me, but I let my love and my son leave without even a kind farewell. It was _easier_ that way. Easier. Monstrous!"

Well, at least that sounded more like the old Arevhat. "Easier doesn't mean easy," Lizzie countered. "You said it yourself: you thought it was the right decision. It just took a while for you to figure out you were wrong. You can still fix it, you know. Make the right decision now. We're going to see the mother of the Sun, right? So ask her where your love and your child are and go after them."

The tears gave way before a loud, bitter laugh. "Go after them?" the princess mocked, mouth twisted in a disparaging smirk.

"Yeah," Lizzie smirked back, "and, uh, you're doing that whole horrible creature routine again. Since I don't particularly want to be possessed by the Sun-Mother yet another time, knock it off, huh?" Arevhat blinked in surprise, then nodded. "Now, _why _can't you go after them?"

It took a moment for the princess to reply. "He hates me," she whispered at last. "I'm sure he hates me. How could he not, after what I've done? I can be nothing to him." A pause, and Lizzie noted the other girl's eyes go distant. "He was so good. Kind, gentle. He made me laugh and he was so clever. I wondered, even then, how he could love me, why he would wish to stay with me, how I had deserved even his friendship. What would he want with me? Sometimes I couldn't believe that he really did love me. Even then, I thought that if one day he could leave, he would soon discover there were many other women better for him than I. How can I believe that now, after such a betrayal, he would ever want to see me again?"

Reassurance was called for. Lizzie knew that. But reassurance wouldn't come. Arevhat's words had met her like old friends, sinking her almost as deeply into uncertainty as the princess. Try as she might, Lizzie could not remember why such words felt so familiar. As if they were...her own...somehow. Shaking away the thought, she at last managed to say, "You can't. He might hate you. But if you don't try, you'll never know one way or the other. And wouldn't it be worth it, to at least see your son again?"

Arevhat didn't answer. Instead, she began walking more quickly, leaving Lizzie struggling with her skirts and her still-queasy stomach, those familiar words circling again and again in her head: _What would he want with me? If one day he could leave, he would soon discover there were many other women better for him than I._

Was it silly she missed Gordo already?

**####  
end of chapter 13**


	14. Pearls and Wisdom

_Thanks to all my reviewers! **Danny**, here's "more"...hope you like it!_ **_Jersey Princess_**_, wow, three reviews! Thank you! Here's the next chapter...I hope the wait wasn't too terrible...and, yeah, it'll be a little bit before Gordo's back on the scene._ **_pixievix_**_, I'm glad you liked the Lizzie and Arevhat bits...that's exactly what I was going for. :D **Black Knight 03**, thank you so much...I hope you like this chapter, too! **ashley678**, I am right there with you on the "fairytale prince charming," but I guess writing about one is almost as good as having one (yeah and denial ain't just a river in Egypt :D). Anyway, I'm glad you're enjoying the one I write about here. (Princess) **Ziny**, I am indeed trying to write a book (we'll see how that goes), and do you think stories count as part of "Music"? **swim6516**, I'm sorry there's no kiss yet...but Gordo's not around and Lizzie has to work up her courage; I promise they'll get there eventually, though. ;) **MissEmmy**, I'm so glad you're enjoying both my story and the fairy tales! Lemme know if you find any awesome fairy tale collections in your search._

**Chapter 14: Pearls and Wisdom**

Arevhat didn't speak again. Instead she kept on at that swift pace, back straight, face forward, a fluid force rising and falling with the hills, green skirts and gold hair unfurled like banners behind her. Lizzie tried her best not to look at her, feeling all the more clumsy and sick in the face of the princess's effortless grace. Instead, she concentrated on merely staying on her feet.

Exhaustion had slid around her in a black-edged veil not long after Arevhat had fallen silent. Her feet fumbled beneath her, knees knocking together, her scalp aching with every jarring step. Her stomach churned and swirled, the nausea growing even as her hands went shaky with hunger. She managed to keep up with the princess, but only just...and not without nearly rolling downhill several times.

And ever and always, she kept returning to Arevhat's words—those familiar words that Lizzie could _not _recall hearing or thinking before. It was a ceaseless puzzle, infuriating in its own way, but at least it kept her from dwelling on the rapid-increasing agony of this journey...or how much she missed Gordo.

_Don't look back, McGuire_, she reminded herself, setting her jaw and fixing her eyes resolutely on the far horizon.

They must be halfway to the ocean by now.

At least the sun was lowering. In another hour or so—maybe less—it would be blinding them. Maybe Arevhat would stop then?

Damn, she hoped so.

_In the meantime, keep walking_, the last two words an echoing mantra in her head: _Keep walking, keep walking, keep walking...._

And she did, the dim edges of her vision slowly growing, reaching wispy dark fingers that Lizzie couldn't blink away until at last there was nothing to see but a mist of fine, fizzing white spots crackling across a dense, black field. Swallowing back a hazy rise of panic, she reached a hand out for Arevhat, the alarmed call dying in her throat as her next step jolted against stone.

_What the hell?_

Another step confirmed it. Stone. Slightly rough and very hard beneath her slippered feet. Gasping, Lizzie stumbled to a stop, eyes fighting to see again.

_Where the hell am I?_

"At the palace of the mother of the Sun," a very familiar voice answered.

_Mom?_ she wondered, mouth shaping the dry, silent word. Her arms strained forward, searching for something, anything...for sight.

"Not in the way you mean, my dear," the woman answered, apology plain in Jo McGuire's voice.

_Of course not_, Lizzie thought, falling to her knees. Of course not. Acrid tears rose in her mouth, scalded her eyes, as the frustration and fear and heartache rose on their exhaustion tide. Where was Gordo? Where was he? Her fingernails ripped ragged, heedless across the stone beneath her.

"Shh," soothed her mother's voice. "I'm sorry, my dear." An arm looped her shoulders, a hand stilling her desperate fingers. "I'm sorry. It was the only way to get you here. The Way to my home only opens for misery, dear heart. I'm sorry. Rest. Rest. You've earned it."

And the white spots before her eyes faded, drawing her with them, down, down, down into darkness.

#############

Light lapped over her eyelids: soft, constant, rolling swells of it, washing with such gentle persuasion that Lizzie couldn't help yielding. Through lashes fluttering in the light's easy wake, she saw hazy blends of blue and gold and white, firming and sharpening with each blink. 

_Where...?_

Everything was so still. Quiet. No wind, no rustle, barely the whisper of her own breathing.

_Shouldn't there be grass?_

She felt her forehead attempt a frown, eyes blinking harder to focus. Slowly, slowly the world resolved. She lay in a room, circular as far as she could tell, the floor a sky blue marble inset with a brilliant orange and yellow mosaic of the sun. The walls, filled with high, gothic archways, rose in gradually darker shades of blue marble to the vaulted ceiling. There, the night sky stretched in white stones on a sapphire marble so dark it was nearly black.

_Where...?_

And the answer came softly: the mother of the Sun, her home, perhaps her palace?

Lizzie immediately sat up, swinging her legs down only to gape as a smattering of small, white...beads?...flew from her skirts to dance across the smooth floor, their resonant skittering echoing in the stillness. She lunged after them, wincing as yet more of the little things fell from her clothing. _What on earth?_ Abandoning the search a moment, she turned to find she'd been lying on a bed of the...were those _pearls?_

A bed of _pearls?_ Unbelievable. The fallen ones forgotten, Lizzie skimmed her fingers through the pearls on the bed, scooping a small handful into her palm. Every one was perfect, exactly round, smooth, lustrous, some smaller than others, most of them ivory, but some faintly pink or peach or even pale green.

"They are beautiful, aren't they?" came a voice behind her, the same voice that she had heard yesterday...or whenever it was that she'd last been awake. With a deep breath, Lizzie nodded and turned.

As she'd expected, it was her mother. At least, it was someone who _looked _like her mother. Sunny hair drawn back in a complicated mass of twists and curls, body draped in layers of filmy coral silk, only the woman's face was familiar.

"They were a gift from my husband," the woman went on, drawing closer. "His domain is the ocean, mine the sky, so we do not see one another often. These serve as a reminder...and at times they allow me to imagine he is near me." A faint smile touched her mouth. "Besides, they make a comfortable bed." One eyebrow rose. "At least, I hope you found it so."

Truthfully, Lizzie couldn't recall much beyond the last few waking moments—which meant she'd probably been more unconscious than asleep—but she nodded anyway.

"Good. And since you are rested—and better?" Lizzie again nodded, suddenly aware that the nausea she'd been struggling with had disappeared, "—we have much to talk about. Come, please."

And with that, the mother of the Sun—at least, Lizzie assumed it was she—turned and left through the same archway she'd entered. Lizzie scrambled to her feet and followed, stepping carefully to avoid treading on the fallen pearls. In silence, they walked down a long corridor, its walls the same delicate wash of pale to dark stone and filled with more lofty archways, these opening onto other rooms and the occasional courtyard. At last, they came upon an archway lined in gold, where the mother of the Sun turned.

Beyond it was a courtyard, open to a sunless, pearlescent sky, a large, burbling fountain at its center. The splash of water on water was the only sound to be heard apart from the swish of Lizzie's slippered feet on the stone floor.

"Please, be seated," the mother of the Sun said, sinking gracefully to perch on the stone lip of the fountain. Uneasily, Lizzie followed suit, hoping there wasn't water waiting to soak through the layers of her skirt. "It is perfectly dry, I assure you." Lizzie started, wide eyes jumping to her mother's, so familiar and yet set in an undeniably foreign expression. "This is my domain," the mother of the Sun explained patiently, "I know all of what goes on here. So, yes, I can hear your mind's words, but I would no more hold them against you than I would the color of your eyes. Please, do not be uneasy."

Right. That was a _whole lot_ easier said than done.

The faint smile on the goddess's mouth told Lizzie she'd heard that. Bother. "Yes," the mother of the Sun agreed. "Now, shall we try to forget all that and go on to the business at hand? You did come for my help, did you not?"

Should she even bother speaking? Clearing her throat, she creaked a, "Yes," anyway.

"Speaking clarifies things. Please, I'd rather you spoke. Now, you and your companion are trying to get home, are you not?"

"Yes." Did the goddess need to know more than that?

"Rest easy, if I need to know, I will ask." The mother of the Sun gave a slight smile. "After all, you are no mind listener." Was that a wink? Still smiling, the goddess went on, "Fortunately, I know how you may get home."

Despite herself, Lizzie gave a delighted, "Really?!"

The other woman laughed. "Yes. Really. I am irritating and occasionally terrifying to my visitors, but I do have my uses. Now, although I know how you are to get home, you still have a fair way to journey to get there. Which works out for the best, really, considering you have yet to resolve what brought you here in the first place. I suppose I can help you with at least some of that, though."

It was a little easier to speak this time. "What? 'What brought us here in the first place'?" Lizzie echoed. "You mean, there's a _reason _why we're here?"

The goddess raised an eyebrow. "Of course. You don't just appear in a—what is it you call it? 'bubble universe'?—without a very good reason."

"Well, what's the reason?"

"I'm afraid you have to discover that on your own. There _are_ rules to this sort of thing. Besides, I rather suspect you know already."

Right. Like she'd be asking if she knew already. Freaking bubble universe.

The goddess's laugh startled Lizzie from her thoughts. "Indeed," the other woman drawled. "Now, as for what I _can _tell you. There's a, well, portal of sorts back to your...world...that can be found with my husband. As I mentioned earlier, his domain is the sea, the opposite of my own. Because of that, I cannot tell you precisely where to find him. There is someone, though, who can.

"I suppose you might call him an oracle. He has had contact with the sea for centuries, and speaks easily with those who live there. But he is of _my _domain, a crane who was once a man. Therefore, I know of his whereabouts at all times. Right now, he is living on an island-kingdom called Jagur, in its capital city, Aderet. The king there will know how to find his precise location."

"So I need to sail to this Jagur place?" The goddess nodded. "And how far away is that from here?"

The mother of the Sun laughed. "Oh, very, very far away, my dear. You cannot get back on your own. But do not worry, I shall put you to earth in exactly the correct place to find a ship."

Lizzie shook her head to banish the image of a great cartoon hand, a la Monty Python, snatching her up and depositing her in the midst of a fishing village. "Can you bring Gordo there?"

"Gordo?" The goddess looked puzzled for a moment. "Oh, yes, your companion." She shook her head. "No. I'm afraid he is already gone."

_Gone? _The breath froze in her chest. "What do you mean, 'gone'?"

The mother of the Sun frowned. "Surely you did not expect you were the only one with a task? And surely, you were not the only one with a reason to come here. He has his own discoveries to make."

Right. Okay. _That's not unreasonable_, Lizzie told herself, trying to remember to breathe. "But we will find each other, right? I-I mean, we got here together, so we should leave together."

"Did you come to this...world...together?" Those familiar eyes bore intently into Lizzie's. "I had not thought you had."

Well. No. Lizzie had woken up in that forest clearing all by herself. So, they hadn't been _together_, but she'd met him so shortly after that...she'd assumed they'd gotten in the fairy tale universe at about the same time. Did that count?

"Perhaps it is not surprising, then," the goddess was saying, "that you might leave separately?"

No, Lizzie supposed not. Her chest hitched. But, then, where was he? Was he safe? Was he looking for her? Had he already gone home? She swallowed the thickness in her throat. Had he left her behind?

The flood of anger caught her by surprise. But it was familiar—oh, so familiar. There was that same burning band around her chest, that old thundering at her temples, her hands fisting like reflex. And she drew it in like air. _He'd left her behind._ Just as she knew he was going to, back home.

"But didn't _you _leave _him _behind?" The goddess's voice slid sharp through Lizzie's thoughts.

_What? _The swift-welling fury came to an abrupt, cold end. Lizzie blinked. "W-well," she stammered, "I had to. To get home, Arevhat said I had to come alone." But the point was plain: she had no more control over this quest than Gordo did. If he'd gone home, he hadn't left her on purpose.

Again, the goddess's words intruded, "I wasn't speaking of now...or here." Lizzie raised confused eyes to the mother of the Sun. She didn't mean back home, did she? How had she left Gordo behind there? Lifting a deliberate eyebrow in a very Jo McGuire way, the goddess continued, "Not all ways to abandon friends are physical, little one. Coldness and disdain and distance are more devastating than any mere absence."

For a moment, Lizzie could not think what the mother of the Sun meant. Distance? Coldness and disdain? And then, it was blindingly obvious. "Oh, no," she whispered, hands clapping over her mouth. The Fight, her anger, her treatment of all her friends...but especially Gordo.

She hadn't even thought of it that way. _Had _she been trying to leave him behind? Surely not. Surely.... Why on earth would she have been doing that? He was her best friend. Why would she leave him?

_Geez, McGuire, you've only been asking yourself that since this whole bad attitude thing began, _she chided. Her darting eyes landed on the mother of the Sun's kind, sympathetic face. If anyone knew....

"But why?" she whispered, clearing her throat to go on, "Why would I do that? H-he's my best friend."

If possible, the mother of the Sun grew even more sympathetic, her hand reaching to lightly cup Lizzie's cheek. "We do strange things, do we not, when we are afraid?"

Lizzie flinched. _Afraid? Of what?_

"Dearest, I think you know," the goddess answered, her grip firming on Lizzie's face. "Don't you remember?"

And suddenly, Lizzie was home again, back in the high school library during that horrible lunch, her Trigonometry book closed in front of her. The minutes flew before her eyes: _why hadn't Gordo told her...mapping out his future and she didn't know a thing about it...Am and Gordo dating...maybe going to the same college...they knew exactly what they wanted...New York...on the other side of the _country_...._ And underneath it all, _They're leaving me...they're leaving me..._he's _leaving me...._ And the terror, the horror, the, oh, God, the agony. Burning, rending, shifting so far down that all she could see, all she could feel, was the fierce, rumbling rage venting to the surface.

The goddess's hand loosened again, and Lizzie opened awed eyes to realize she was trembling. "I-I didn't," she croaked, finding her mother's eyes though they swam before her. "I didn't know." She squeezed her eyes shut, heedless of the tears pressed onto her cheeks. "Why was I so afraid? Why did it _hurt _so badly?" she asked, more of herself than the goddess before her.

The mother of the Sun answered anyway, though: "You _do _know that, dear heart."

And she was right. Lizzie did know. It fell open inside her, glowing, real, and so, so deep. "I'm in love with him," she breathed, amazement fraying almost all her voice away. How had she missed it? The truth of it was threaded through every part of her Self, through every memory, every moment, every beat and breath of her body. A subtle garnish in some places, in others it literally held her together. _How could she have missed it?!_

"As I said," the goddess answered, "we do strange things when we're afraid."

Lizzie's eyes jumped open. "But I wasn't afraid of that. At least, I..." Well, to be honest, Lizzie wasn't really sure _what _she'd been. This whole thing came as rather a shock. Which was the understatement of, oh, her _life._

"It is a hard thing, my dear, to need another person."

The words came unbidden, "Especially when he doesn't need you." _Especially when you know that, despite a junior high crush he _might _have had on you, he's never indicated interest since. Especially since you know that, given half a chance, he'll find something more _right _for him than you as soon as you're gone._ Which sounded eerily like Arevhat's thoughts on _her_ love. No wonder they'd tasted so familiar when Lizzie had mulled them over.

The mother of the Sun's hand dropped away, pulling Lizzie from her thoughts. "I'm afraid I cannot tell you what he does or does not need, my dear. That is your solution to find, as Arevhat is seeking hers right now." The goddess smiled. "You gave very fine advice, by the way. She has gone after her love and their child. It may not be the answer she wants, but as you said, at least she'll know one way or the other." The angle of the goddess's eyebrow left Lizzie in no doubt that she believed Lizzie should follow her own counsel.

Again, a _whole lot _easier said than done.

"Yes," the mother of the Sun agreed. "In any case, I have given you all the assistance that I can. You still have a journey ahead of you. The sooner you begin, the sooner you end it."

Gordo's parting words jumped into Lizzie's mind: _Sooner you leave, sooner we see one another again, sooner we get home._ If only she knew she actually would see Gordo before she got home.

"I'm sorry I cannot reassure you of that, dearest. He is not in my domain, nor is he in my care. And actually spiriting you home is not in _my _realm of ability. I am only a goddess, after all." With a faint smile, the mother of the Sun swept a hand through the water in the fountain. When she lifted it again, slouched in her palm was a small pouch of brilliant cranberry silk. "Some of my finest pearls," she explained, handing it to Lizzie. "They should serve to pay your passage to Jagur. Look for a ship named the _Amana_. The captain's a good man, a favorite of my husband. I believe this time of year he settles for a few weeks in the ship's home port, Eliston. Stand, my dear, and I shall take you there."

Obediently, Lizzie got to her feet, stepping away from the fountain so the goddess could stand beside her. "This shall be far more pleasant than your journey here," the mother of the Sun said, hand cupping Lizzie's forehead. "But these things are peculiar like that. Best of luck, dearest, and courage." With one last smile, the goddess pressed her hand harder to Lizzie's brow. The blue and white and gold of the palace shimmered and smeared like a watercolor. And then, nothing.

**####  
end of chapter 14**

Chapter Notes:  
I don't own Monty Python...unless you count a DVD of _Monty Python and the Holy Grail_ that I _wish _I owned. :)


	15. Eliston

_Again, I'm sorry this is late. RL has been a little insane lately, what with my sister getting married in little more than a week (I swear, come my turn, I'm eloping!). Anyway, thank you all for being so patient, and thanks to my reviewers for...reviewing. :)_

**_Black Knight 03_**_, wow, thank you so much—I'm honored you think so! :D **pixievix**, no Gordo yet but I hope the journey to Gordo is at least a little consolation! This is a little late to serve as a graduation present, **swim6516**, but thanks and congratulations...and I hope you kicked serious econ arse!_ **_I3itterSweet_**_, yeah, Liz's a bit dense, eh? Let's hope she behaves herself now that she knows. :) I'm so glad you found this again, **MP**! I'm not the Sun Goddess (lol), but I have to admit physics/philosophy and fairy tales/folklore are two of my favorite things as well. Not that I know nearly as much about them as I'd like! **Caz**, I'm so glad you're enjoying this...and thank you for however many reviews you choose to leave—I love 'em all! Thank you, **Purplerks**, I hope you're still enjoying this by the time you get to this chapter. ;) **MU**, I certainly hope you can look forward to more of this in the next months...assuming RL permits. :? With such reviews, though, I definitely have incentive!_

**Chapter 15: Eliston**

When the world came together again, Lizzie could do little more than stand, legs wobbling in tiny tremors beneath her, and breathe, which took a ridiculous amount of concentration for something she'd done all her life.  _Gah._  She felt rather as though every particle in her body had been stirred up and shifted around before being yanked, with most unpleasant force, back into place again.  Still more pleasant than the journey _into_ the mother of the Sun's palace, granted, but as a mode of transportation, it could use a little tweaking.

Too bad the mother of the Sun wasn't around to hear Lizzie's thoughts on the matter, but Lizzie, eyes only just beginning to find shape and shadow out of blindness, knew without seeing that the goddess was gone.

Now, where had she left Lizzie?

She still couldn't see much, but her other senses had begun to rapidly piece themselves together again.  So rapidly, in fact, that her next breath came as a blow, smells heavy and noxious curling in her nose, coiling on her tongue to draw a choking gag from her throat.  Acrid smoke smeared into saltwater, the peppery stench of sweat spicing a rank stir of livestock and sewage.  There were faint hints of yeasty bread or cinnamon, but amid the other scents they were rendered just another awful addition.

Wherever she was, it reeked.

Breathing through her mouth now, she decided it was probably a much better idea to rely on her other senses.  Fortunately, her vision had mostly returned.  Squinting around her, Lizzie realized she stood in a sort of alley, Tudor-style buildings on both sides, their overhanging second stories nearly meeting above her.  Only a sliver of blue sky showed between them, and Lizzie turned gingerly toward the mouth of the alleyway to blink in the bright flood of sunlight there.

Stepping forward to stand just inside the shadows, Lizzie found herself looking out on a street.  Not paved in cobblestones as she'd expected, the road was a mix of dry earth and gravel, grey dust billowing under feet and hooves and wheels alike.  And there were a great many of those, all making a great deal of noise.  Amid the roaring, teeming street was the creak of wagons, wooden, spoked wheels rumbling low beneath crunching hooves and jangling harness.  Chatter burbled around sharp, shrieking ululations and the piercing shouts of vendors.  And above all, somewhere high in the clear sky, came the demanding, plaintive cries of sea birds.

Eliston.  It had to be.  And Lizzie could do little more than gape at it.

How long had she been in this bubble universe, now?  Probably not quite as long as she _felt_ she'd been here, but long enough that she had started to feel almost comfortable with its oddities.  And then, to come here, to this town, only to find herself amazed all over again.  She looked up and down the street, at the steady march of building after building, all the same dark beam and white plaster.  And the people swarming the roadway, most dressed like she and Gordo in variations of tunics and trousers or long, heavy skirts and aprons.  But to actually see them all, a dizzying mixture of orange and rust and cream, lemon and indigo and grey, plum and olive and black, all so natural in their everyday wear, all going about their everyday business.  So real.  And yet, surreal.  She almost expected it all to shimmer and fade, mirage-like, in the next moment.

But it didn't, not even as she put a toe in the stream of traffic, not even as she paused along its edge, wondering which way to the harbor.

A shift in the breeze brought a pungent mess of fish and salt that answered her question.  Turning her face into it, she found herself staring down the street.  That way, then.  Fist tight around her little bag of pearls, Lizzie took a breath and jumped fully into the bustling current of the street.

Eliston turned out to be a rather hilly little town, the street striking along steep inclines, then winding in long, lazy curves around some knoll or other.  Always, though, the sea breeze blew in Lizzie's face, and she was more than content to drift along in the flow of the crowd, wide eyes skimming from one detail to another.

There were so many thatched roofs, and the windows—nearly all of them unshuttered this fine day—were open to the air.  Occasionally, Lizzie saw a window covered in what looked like yellow, greasy parchment, but not one had glass panes.  And then there were the signs hanging over some of the doors—shingles, if she remembered.  A few were easy to guess the purpose of: a needle for a tailor or a seamstress, a horseshoe for a blacksmith or even a stable, a mug for a tavern.  But others she couldn't even attempt to understand.  A feather—maybe for a scribe?  An odd squiggly line—mapmakers?  A perfect red square—Geometry Lovers Anonymous?

She was so absorbed in the living, breathing town around her that when at last the harbor swung into view, Lizzie nearly stopped dead in the middle of the road.

A fishing village, Eliston most definitely was _not_.

The harbor was huge.  Or rather, the bay the harbor perched inside was huge.  And busy.  In addition to the boats moored peacefully along the docks, there were several more—sailboats, rowboats, long, many-oared boats—zipping across the water.  And then, still sheltered within the curving, crescent arms of land enclosing the bay, were the ships.

It wasn't the first time she'd seen something like them, of course—not when she'd watched all the _Pirates of the Caribbean_ movies a million times—but somehow seeing them in person, real, was completely different.  They were beautiful.  Sleek and majestic, complex, power coiled in the rigging, waiting to be unfurled with the sails.  They just about stole her breath.  And they succeeded in stopping her feet.

"Ah, there's a sweet bit o' poetry, there," said a gruff voice, a hand at her elbow propelling her with careful efficiency out of the street.  "Find it hard not to stare myself when I see 'em.  But y'd be best not to do so in the middle of the road."

Blinking, Lizzie turned to see an older man grinning at her through a bushy grey beard, dark brown eyes twinkling beneath the brim of a faded blue cap.  With an uneasy smile, Lizzie stammered, "T-thanks."

"Ah, 'tis no trouble, little miss," the man shook his head.  "I'm not a sailing man, myself, but y'can't live in Eliston long without gaining a little understanding of the sailor's love f'r it."

Swallowing a little of her apprehension, Lizzie managed to ask, "So you live here?"

"Aye.  Have done for almost all m'life.  Sometimes I think I can feel the pulse of the place as m'own lifeblood."

Which meant he might know if the...uh, the _Amana_...was in port.  "Do you know the names of the ships out there?" she asked.

The man squinted a little at her.  "Would y'be looking for one in particular?"

Lizzie blinked.  "Uh, yeah."  So much for the subtle approach.  "The, uh, the _Amana_."

"Ah, yes," he nodded.  "The _Amana_'s here, just on the tail end of her few weeks' leave.  Cap'n Zev's just stocking his cargo.  Provisions'll come next and then she'll be sailing on the tide, likely a day from now, if not sooner."

"I-I'm supposed to seek passage," she explained, not entirely sure why she was doing so.

Bristly brows drew together over his nose.  "_Amana_ doesn't take passengers.  Zev's a good cap'n, but he only deals in precious cargo.  Has a crew specially trained f'r it.  Don't know as y'd be able to convince him to take y'on as well."

_Great._  "Unfortunately, I don't have much of a choice."  Again, why on earth was she telling him this?  "How can I speak to the captain?"

Still frowning, the man scrubbed pensively at his beard, then said, "Far as I know, he's on board ship.  Y'might hire a dory to take y'out there to speak with him."

"A dory?"

"Aye."  He pointed to a handful of small, sailed craft at the end of one dock.  "A dory's one of those."

Okay.  But how would she hire one?  All she had for currency were the pearls the mother of the Sun had given her.  She knew the captain of the _Amana _would take them—otherwise, the goddess never would have given them to her—but would the...driver?...of the dory?

"If y'll pardon my saying so, little miss," the man spoke up suddenly, "y'look—that is, with your fine clothes and how clean they are and all—y'look every bit the rich lady.  If y'go to hire a dory with your bearing so, the man y'talk to might read you as a worthy fare...even if y'tell him y'won't pay 'til y've spoken with Cap'n Zev."

If so, that would be....  "I do have money, of a sort," Lizzie hastened to explain.  She wouldn't _cheat_ the dory driver, if that was what the man was implying.

"As I figured," he smiled.  "But best to see what the cap'n of the _Amana_ requires before y'give too much to the dory man.  'Sides," he confided with a wink, "Cap'n Zev'll have a more...just...sense of payment than the dory man."

Lizzie couldn't help smiling.  If dory drivers were nothing more than meter-less water-taxi drivers, she wasn't surprised.  "Then, I suppose I'll go down and hire my dory."  Frowning a little, she realized she didn't have anything to pay the man with.  And for all his help, he certainly deserved it.  "Um, I don't know how to thank you," she started hesitantly, only for him to wave a hand in the air.

"Just tell Cap'n Zev that Seth had a feeling about you...if anything comes of it, he'll pay me himself.  But don't tell him 'til y're underway.  Zev's a man as likes a little backbone.  If y'mention me, he'd read it as cheating.  So, g'on now, little miss.  And good luck!"  And with that, Seth stepped away, lost amid the crowded street in moments.  With a deep breath, Lizzie gathered herself and followed.

She was an actress.  Sometimes.  How hard could it be to pretend to be an impatient, overbearing lady with nothing more to do than count her money and terrify little dory drivers?

Right.

_So all I have to do is channel Kate._

###########

"Now, watch y'r head there, m'lady," simpered the dory driver, oily smile plainly audible in his voice.  Seated in the back of the boat—what had the driver called it...something that started with an 's'?—not a foot away from the smelly little man, Lizzie kept her eyes firmly on the water.

"Sail's comin' over, m'lady," the driver explained, and Lizzie caught his unctuous little head bob out of the corner of one eye.  On the pretense of ducking beneath the swinging sail, she tried to arrange herself a few inches further away.

Gah.  With such a man, it was beyond easy to play the haughty lady.  Especially considering that her very real disgust wasn't that far different from feigned contempt.

"So, y've a meetin' with Cap'n Zev, eh?" asked the driver for perhaps the sixth time.

"Yes."  Ooh.  There were icicles forming on the end of that one.  _Not bad, McGuire_.

"About anythin' in p'rticular?"

Lizzie swallowed her sigh and gave the same answer she had the three times before.  "Nothing more than anyone else might, I suppose."

With an obviously nervous clearing of his throat, the driver continued, "Y'a patron of the cap'n?"

Well.  That was a new one.  And Lizzie had a feeling that the character she played would not welcome the intrusion into her business.  With a cutting glance, she sniffed and bit out, "I hardly see as that is any of your affair, Master Dory Driver."

Another groveling head bob, this one accompanied by a pained biting of his chapped lips.  She could almost hear him thinking _It's Mister Dolfy, m'lady_.  He'd already told her so something like fifteen times, but apparently didn't think it wise to follow an intrusive question with an impertinent correction.  Which was just as well, really, since Lizzie had no intention of calling the fellow anything but Master Dory Driver.

Despite how utterly yucky the driver was, this was almost a little fun.

"Ehm," coughed Dolfy, "comin' up on the _Amana_ now, m'lady.  She's the smallest, there, in scarlet and black."

For a moment, Lizzie wasn't sure what he meant.  Then, as they sailed a little further, the ships ahead of them began to separate into two, then three, then five distinct shapes.  And there, between two of the larger vessels, was the smallest, her hull scarlet with a wide black band.  Lizzie counted three masts, each with three furled sails, then noticed that the long pointy thing at the front had two sails of its own, also furled.  Everywhere, on the deck, among the webs of rigging, sailors swarmed.

"She's a beauty," sighed the driver, "and y'can see the cap'n's colors there."  Lizzie followed his arm to the top of the center mast, where a flag rippled scarlet and gold.  "Not as there's any doubt 'tis his ship, of course," he went on.  "Y'can see the Faceless Lady, there, 'neath the bowsprit."  This time the driver's arm pointed to the carved figurehead beneath the pointy mast-like thing: the bowsprit, she guessed.  "Only the _Amana _has the Lady.  But his colors say he's on board to any as want to know."  Which Lizzie was more than happy to hear.

Dolfy's next words, however, she could definitely do without.  Tuning the driver out as he droned on about how honored he was to serve her, blah, blah, blah, Lizzie instead turned her attention to the ship's figurehead as they passed it.  She wasn't at the right distance, or the right angle, to see it perfectly, but she managed to make out strong, delicate arms, gleaming drapes and folds of wood, and hair sculpted in long, windblown waves.  Every part was perfect except for the face, which was nothing more than a blank, smooth oval.  Had to wonder whose idea _that _was.

"Ho, there!"  A strong shout from aboard the _Amana_ cut Lizzie mid-thought...and the driver mid-word.  "Watch where y're pointing that speck of sawdust!"  Try as she might, Lizzie couldn't isolate who, exactly, was speaking.

Dolfy didn't seem to have that problem.  Standing slightly to sweep a bow to the ship, he fixed his eyes near the bowsprit and called back, "My pardon, sir, my pardon.  I've come with a passenger as wants to see Cap'n Zev."

A laugh drifted over the water, and this time Lizzie managed to pinpoint its source.  A stout, round-faced man with sandy hair and a scarlet kerchief on his head was shaking with laughter, teeth flashing in a grin.  "Oh, to see the cap'n, eh?  Cap'n's not to be disturbed, Master Dory Driver.  Y'should know that."

Fighting a grin of her own at the sailor's address, Lizzie straightened her back, drew a deep breath and answered before Dolfy could.  "Perhaps _he _should, sir, but it was _I _who hired him and _I _who wish to see your captain.  I've come about—"  Uh, bloody hell, _what_ had she come about?  "—about a private matter."  There.  She didn't think her voice had wobbled too noticeably.

Another laugh.  "Oh, 's that right, miss?  Funny I don't know anything about that.  And seein' as I'm the cap'n's first mate, I think he'd 've told me, were he expecting you."

O-kay.  "He's not expecting me," she said simply, mind racing for her next words.  Too bad the mother of the Sun couldn't do her ventriloquist thing _now_.  "But, seeing as you're the first mate, I can tell you that I've come on a matter of business.  An offer I think the captain will want to hear."  Throwing caution, and a sizeable chunk of her good sense, overboard, she added boldly, "I'd heard the captain was looking for cargo this trip.  Did I hear incorrectly?"

For a moment there was nothing but the vague shouts of the men on the ships around them, the luf-luf of the dory's sail, and the gurgle of water sliding by on either side as the boat drifted slowly beside the _Amana_.  Then, the first mate's booming shout, "Pull that patch of sawdust alongside, Master Dory Driver.  M'lady'll be coming aboard."

"Such success, such success!" gushed Dolfy as he happily set about the ropes and sail.  _Oh, yeah, _Lizzie agreed, even allowing an inward cackle of the driver's refrain—_such success, such success!_—as she nodded to the first mate and glowered frostily at the man beside her.

Within a few moments, the dory had drawn up to the middle of the ship.  There, Dolfy jumped up and seized a rope ladder hanging from the _Amana_'s deck, his other hand reaching to Lizzie.  "If I might, m'lady," he said, "it's not quite what y're used to, but it'll get y'aboard."  Eyeing the wood slats of the ladder, Lizzie had to resist the urge to snort.  Compared to every other rope ladder she'd climbed, this ought to be a piece o' cake.

With the driver's hand clasped in hers, she stepped to the other side of the dory, her confidence taking a sickening dive as the boat tilted ominously under her weight.  Swallowing hard, she turned deliberately from the gap of dark water between the two craft and fixed her eyes on the ladder right in front of her.  _Piece o' cake_, she reminded herself firmly, one hand reaching for rope and the other lifting her skirts so she could step onto the lowest wood slat.

"There you are, m'lady," Dolfy encouraged, "natural as breath.  And I'll just stay here 'til y'finish y'r business with the cap'n."  Banishing the wide-eyed fright she was sure lingered on her face, Lizzie gave the driver a curt nod and then turned all her attention to the rope ladder.

Climbing the ladder wasn't much different from climbing that tree in the forest clearing.  Once she remembered the rhythm of hands to rope and skirt, it was easy.  When at last she reached the top, where the first mate waited to offer a hand up, she wasn't even breathing hard.

"Welcome aboard, m'lady," he said when she'd gained her feet.  "Mr. Jeshin at y'r service."  Lizzie returned his shallow bow with a nod of her head.  "Y'wish to see Cap'n Zev, m'lady?"

"Yes, thank you, Mr. Jeshin," she replied.

"This way, then, m'lady."  With another bow, he turned and led the way toward the back of the ship, weaving deftly through a group of sailors hard at work there before stopping in front of a door—one of two, Lizzie noted, set beneath a higher deck at the very back of the ship.  Mr. Jeshin gave two sharp knocks on the door and then promptly threw it open, gesturing for her to enter.  Drawing a slow breath, she did, the door closing firmly behind her.

The room inside smelled heavily of sulfur and vinegar, but otherwise seemed much like any room anywhere.  Sun slanted through a pair of small, diamond-paned windows on the left, glowing amber on the dark wood paneling of the walls.  A door stood at the back of the room, a cabinet bolted into the wall to Lizzie's right.  And in the center of the room stood a large desk, the surface covered with charts, some rolled and peeking out of their leather sleeves, some unrolled, their ends weighted down by what looked like a compass, a sextant, several ink bottles, and an unlit oil lamp.

"Ah, m'lady, welcome to the _Amana_," a voice said, and Lizzie's eyes flew to the man standing behind the desk.  Dressed in black trousers, a white shirt beneath a crimson waistcoat, and a long black coat with heavy gold buttons, he was still recognizable as Jon Dukov.  Barely so, Lizzie conceded, taking in the shoulder-length brown curls, the blunderbuss and long dagger worn easily at his waist, the faint smirk on a decidedly unshaven face.  But there was no mistaking the apple-green eyes meeting her own from beneath a black tri-cornered hat.  Those eyes were Jon's.

Sweeping Jon, who must be Captain Zev, a small curtsy, Lizzie scrambled to get her thoughts together.  "Thank you," she said, straightening into the regal, commanding lady Dolfy and Mr. Jeshin had encountered.  "I am Lady Elizabeth.  Am I to assume you are captain of this vessel?"

"Captain Zev at your service, m'lady," he confirmed with a flourishing bow.  His smirk broadened almost imperceptibly, the mockery twinkling in his eyes nearly turning Lizzie's knees to water.  _Backbone_, she reminded herself.  _He's a captain.  He intimidates people all day long.  Some backbone, McGuire!_

Lifting her chin, she said in her coolest tone, "I have come with a business proposition."

One eyebrow rose.  "Indeed, Lady Elizabeth."

If only there was somewhere to sit down.  She felt like she was on stage...and she didn't know any of her lines.  _Why _wasn't she better at improv?  "Yes," she managed to say, mouth dry.  And now what?  Geez, what had Seth said?  No passengers, crew specially trained, only deals in precious cargo....  _Of course!_

With a faint smirk of her own, Lizzie turned to stroll nonchalantly to the windows.  "I understand you deal only in precious cargo," she said, examining the yellow and red striped hull of the ship outside as though it was the most fascinating thing she'd ever seen.

"I do," came the captain's answer, a flicker of interest in his voice.

"I have a very precious cargo that I need to get to Jagur.  Aderet, to be precise."  Turning from the window, she pursed her lips and said, "It needs to get there as soon as possible."

There was definitely more interest than skepticism in the captain's eyes now.  "The _Amana _is one of the fastest ships in these waters, m'lady."

Lizzie allowed the slightest curve to her mouth.  "So I had heard.  But there is, of course, the question of your own routes.  Are you intending to travel to Aderet this journey?"

Zev's smirk was back.  "I go where my patrons need me, Lady Elizabeth."

"I see."  Mirroring his smirk, "So shall we discuss payment?"

"It seems only prudent," the captain agreed with a dip of his head.

Lizzie pulled the silk bag out of her bodice, where she'd stowed it before meeting with Dolfy, and tossed it to Zev.  As he struggled with the strings holding it closed, she meandered over to the desk, watching as a waterfall of glossy black pearls cascaded into his hand.  Transparent amazement shone in his eyes before he managed to wrestle his expression blank again.

"All that," Lizzie told him quietly, "for one-way passage to Aderet.  I need only to pay the dory driver, but the rest is yours."

Zev's eyes flicked to hers before being drawn irresistibly back to the fortune sitting in his palm.  "All this, save the dory driver's fare and the fee to transport your cargo to the ship, you mean."

"Of course."  Lizzie waited a breath, then asked, "A deal, Captain Zev?"

"A deal."  Prying his gaze from the pearls, he said, "When is this cargo to arrive?  I had planned to leave tomorrow with the tide."

Smiling fully this time, "The cargo is already here."

"Here?" Zev echoed, frowning as he restored the pearls to their bag.  "Mr. Jeshin did not mention any cargo."

"Oh," Lizzie shrugged, "well, he didn't know at the time.  _I _am the cargo.  I assume you have quarters for me."

For a long moment, the captain merely stared at her, silent, face unreadable.  Lizzie fought against the nervous tremor of her hands and prayed Seth had been right when he'd said Zev appreciated a little backbone.  Because at the merest indication otherwise, she planned to be down on her knees, pouring out the whole story and _begging _passage on the bloody ship.

And then, the corner of the captain's mouth twitched.  And twitched again.  And then he was grinning—the crooked, roguish grin that never failed to surprise Lizzie when she saw it on shy, solemn Jon.  But here, on the captain's face, it had to be a good thing.  Lizzie released the tight breath she'd been holding.  And sucked it right back in again as Zev stalked purposely around the desk.  Blinking in surprise, she watched as he flung open the door leading out on deck.

"Mr. Jeshin!" he shouted, and Lizzie squeaked as he suddenly lunged toward her, one strong hand grasping her elbow as he pushed her outside in front of him.  _Great.  Now he's gonna have the first mate throw me overboard.  Probably _without _the pearls, too.  Bloody hell._

Mr. Jeshin appeared before them.  "Aye, cap'n?"

A large gold coin flickered through the air to land in the first mate's surprised hand.  "Send the dory on its way, Mr. Jeshin, while I show Lady Elizabeth to the guest quarters."

_Oh, thank God_, Lizzie thought, closing her eyes.  When she opened them again, it was to see Mr. Jeshin, and several of the sailors nearby, goggling at Zev, their mouths hanging open.  "T-the guest quarters, cap'n?" stammered the first mate.

"As I said, Mr. Jeshin."  Lizzie looked from one man to the other.  Grief and compassion met between them, so curiously joined that she couldn't tell which emotion came from which man.  "M'lady will disembark at Aderet, in Jagur, in two days," the captain explained, voice softening slightly.

After a long moment, Mr. Jeshin gave a nod.  "Aye, sir."  Turning to Lizzie, he bowed and said, "Pleasure to have y'aboard, m'lady."

But Lizzie, nonplused by the uneasy stirring of the sailors and several of their concerned glances, found herself struggling for a response.  "T-thank you, Mr. Jeshin," she managed finally, hoping the bewilderment she heard in her voice was not quite so apparent to everyone else.

"To your quarters, then, m'lady?" Zev asked, the faint pressure on her elbow—still in his grip—distracting her at last from the odd tableau around them.

Regaining a firm hold on her haughty character, she gave a slight nod and a chilly, "Certainly, captain."  And then Zev was sweeping her toward the second door she'd noticed earlier, opening it and ushering her inside.  They were halfway down a steep, narrow staircase before the door closed again, plunging them into darkness.  Dimly, Lizzie was aware of the first mate roaring, "As you were!" and then all was breath and scuff of shoes on creaking wood as she made her blind way the last few steps.

"I shall guide you," came the captain's voice at her ear, unnaturally loud in the dark but with a tone so calm and confident, it could almost be Jon speaking to her.

A handful of staggering paces in the dark and then a door flung open before her, flooding her eyes with sunlight.  She stumbled through, nearly as blind as she'd been in the dark, and then stopped, blinking furiously.  The first thing she saw were three windows in the far wall, small and diamond-paned like the ones in Captain Zev's office.  The walls, she noted, were also paneled in the same dark wood.  Other than that, though, the two rooms were completely different.  On the right side of the room was a narrow four-poster bed, lush red velvet drapes drawn closed.  On the left, below the windows and clustered about a low table, were a pair of heavy armchairs upholstered in a forest-scene tapestry.

With quarters like these, Lizzie had to wonder _why _the _Amana_ didn't take passengers.  Looking up into the captain's face and seeing the hard line of his mouth, the bright, brittle flicker in his apple-green eyes, she decided now was probably _not _the best time to ask.

"Your quarters, Lady Elizabeth," Zev announced unnecessarily.  "I trust Mr. Jeshin will be down shortly with your belongings."

"I have none," Lizzie said, turning aside to hide her sheepish wince.

"In that case, m'lady, I am sure you are tired from your journey.  I shall leave you to settle in.  You will dine with me come supper."  It was not a question; Lizzie nodded.  "By such time, I expect you will have quit this proud, unpleasant mask and can join me as the amiable lady you are."  And with a bow, he was gone, leaving Lizzie staring after him, wide-eyed.

Well.  Damn.  _I guess some things _don't _change._

Alternate universe or no, Jon Dukov was one observant fellow.  At least Zev hadn't felt inclined to ask if she wanted some Midol....

**####  
end of chapter 15**

Chapter Notes:  
Don't own _Pirates of the Caribbean_, though I really, really wish I did. ("She's safe, just like I promised.  She's all set to marry Norrington, just like she promised. And you get to die for her, just like you promised. So we're all men of our word really…except for Elizabeth, who is, in fact, a woman.")  
And a groveling thank you to my brilliant, wonderful, longsuffering Father-Dearest, who took the time to painstakingly explain the bits of sailing that I couldn't understand (which was just about all of it, I'm ashamed to admit). That I have even a rudimentary knowledge now is all thanks to him. And any mistakes in this or future chapters should be duly laid at my door.


	16. Aboard the Amana

_I'm so sorry this is appallingly late. I had a touch of writer's block (it's not easy to write when Gordo's not around, lemme tell ya) and my sister's wedding, of course (at long last, I have a brother-in-law!), but I'm hoping to get back on a chapter/fortnight schedule now. In the meantime, thank you so much for your patience and reviews._

**_Black Knight 03_**_, I hope you like this chapter...and that my details continue to add to the story, despite my utter lack of sailing know-how! ;) Good to see you again, **Jenna**; sorry this chapter was so long in coming, but I hope it measures up. **MysteriouslyUnique**, what a good question! My guess is that Lizzie hasn't had much need for currency thus far, besides which the MotS told her to use the pearls for payment; I'm not sure Lizzie would feel confident enough to disregard a goddess's instructions even a little bit. It's definitely something she'd think about, though, once she reaches Aderet so thanks for bringing it up! :D **MP**, is there such a thing as too much PotC? If my copy weren't packed away (along with all my other movies, blast it!), I'd doubtless be watching it right now. Sigh...alas! **pixievix**, I'm so glad you're not missing Gordo _too_ badly; heaven knows I'm right there with you! Soon, I promise! Soon! Thank you, **Caz**, I hope you still love this even though it's been forever since I've updated! :) **ashley**, it's been an even longer wait...I'm so sorry...but I hope this chapter makes up a little for it. Wow, **Purplerks**, thank you! I definitely enjoy putting all that stuff into this story...although at times I, too, wonder why I do it. :) As for what's going on with L & G in their world...we're inching closer to finding out! **swim6516**, does this chapter count as a present in any way, shape, or form? _My _birthday's this weekend, but that's not nearly as much fun. Regardless, I hope you enjoy this chapter! And lastly, **I-Got-Butterflyz**, so many good suggestions! Trust me, I shall eventually reunite L & G, G shall eventually explain all (as will L), but no G-point of view, I'm afraid. Maybe if I write another story? Despite all that, I hope you like this next little bit!_

_Wow. Review-response that ate Cincinnati...on to the chapter!_

**Chapter 16: Aboard the _Amana_**

At the slam of the door leading out on deck, Lizzie recollected herself and gently pushed her own door closed. Leaning against it, she let her eyes wander once more over the room. For guest quarters that were supposedly never used, everything was in remarkably fine shape. All the woodwork shone, glossy with what had to be fresh wax and a good polish. The sunlight beaming through the windows caught only a few dust motes dancing in the air, and as far as Lizzie could tell, the upholstery and the bed curtains were of the finest quality, almost new.

Drifting over to the bed, she pushed the drapes aside. Crisp white linens glowed in the sudden light, and Lizzie had an odd flash of Captain Zev tucking them carefully over the mattress, hands smoothing a deliberate crease here, a determined fold there, until everything was just _so_. Blinking the image away, Lizzie shook her head. No. This guest room was definitely meant to be used. And by one person. Someone important. Someone that had drawn that peculiar exchange between Zev and the first mate, not to mention all the sailors' staring, disbelieving eyes.

Maybe later she'd have the chance to ask Zev about it.

Fingers sweeping the soft velvet of the drapes, Lizzie turned to the windows. More of the curving sweep of the bay met her gaze, one rocky, tree-studded arm of land dwindling into the water at its mouth. Sailboats and oared boats still patrolled the water before her, but the traffic was much lighter than it had been closer to the harbor, almost peaceful.

Or it would be almost peaceful, had there not been nearly so much noise. She couldn't see the ships to either side, but she could certainly hear them. Shouts, indistinguishable with the distance, pierced the air, rough chants calling rhythm into the gentle sway of the ship beneath her, whistles, creaking timber—or was that rope?—the crackle of captive canvas in the wind, even bells. And, aside from the bells, none of it happened at the same time, sound lapping over sound, ebbing, eddying, a sea in its own right.

Closing her eyes to the light and her mind to the din, Lizzie drew a long, slow breath, held it tight, and released it. For the first time in what felt like forever, everything was still, simple. No hiking, no strangers right beside her, no magic carpets or monkeys, no prophets or goddesses or gold hair or anger or worry or anxiety over Where To Go Next or What To Do Then. She was here, on this ship, where she needed to be, and for once, she was not in charge of when it was leaving or how to get it ready or why it was going where it was going. In fact, the captain had all but ordered her to stay in her cabin 'til dinner. All the quest-concerns were bound to come back, of course, but for now she was going to do just that.

Opening her eyes, she looked over her shoulder at the bed. It was beyond tempting, and with a murmured apology to Zev and whoever he'd intended this room for, Lizzie stretched out on the white duvet and settled in for a nice long nap.

If only her mind would shut off.

At last free of quest-stuff, at last free to indulge in some blank, blissful rest, her mind instead chose to work itself into another knot. _What about Gordo?_ it kept asking. And as much as Lizzie didn't want to know what it meant, didn't want to think about it, didn't want to care, she did, she had to, she couldn't help it.

"Bother," she muttered, staring up into the bed canopy. "Apparently, once you know you're in love with your best friend, you've got to do something about it." Which sucked, really, since the thought of doing _anything_ about it, let alone _something_, pretty much scared the hell out of her.

She laughed in spite of herself. "At least I can admit that to myself now." Swallowing, her faint smile fallen away, "I am scared to death."

_C'mon, McGuire_, she rallied, _what's the worst that could happen?_

Oh, but she could imagine the worst all too easily. _Gordo, I'm in love with you_. And him, stunned, mouth open. And her, so nervous, so hopeful...please, please, please... And him, the dawning understanding in his eyes, the pity, he's such a good _friend_, and one hand rising to her cheek. _Oh, Liz_—that name, closer and dearer than _Lizzie_—_I'm sorry_—and he is, _God_, he is—_but I just don't feel the same. You're my best friend, but I just can't...I'm sorry._ And he'd be so kind, because that's the way he is, and her words ashes in her mouth, eyes hot, trying not to cry as she nodded and summoned a smile and _T-that's okay, Gordo. We're friends._ And the humiliation, her self bared to the bone, open and raw to his kind, passive, _disinterested_ gaze.

She flinched away from the scene, banishing it viciously from her mind. Why should it hurt so much, she wondered, if he didn't care for her? Why after all this time should it bother her so deeply if he didn't love her? Wasn't in love with her? It was all so huge, so tender, so _new_.

But it wasn't, she realized. It wasn't new, not really. Blinking, surprised, her eyes traced a maroon shadow in the corner of the canopy. How long had she loved him? All her life? And had she only been _in love_ with him a few days? Weeks? Years? Or had she been in love with him almost as long as she'd loved him? The moment of realization was clear, of course, but she couldn't think when the love itself changed. It just...grew...somehow, shifting with all the natural purpose of seasons or stars or...or tadpoles into frogs.

And he'd always been there. She'd always had him...had more of him than his family or his other friends...more of him than he knew he was gifting her with, sometimes. His kindness, his humor, his mind. His support, his touch, his eyes, his principles. His frustration, his anger, his determination. His whimsy, his philosophy, his strength. His sorrow, his pain, his courage. His faith. His trust. His love.

And she'd returned her Self for his, she realized with a gasp. As unknowing, as unconsciously as he, she was sure. But he'd gotten it all. Because there was always a place for everything inside her to go. A match for all of her into all of him, and vice versa. With such a trust, with such an exchange, what else _could _she do but give everything to him? She'd given it no more thought than breathing.

And now, here she was, faced with the very real possibility that she _couldn't _give it all to him anymore. That, as much as she wished to, he might simply not have any more room to give her. Love of the sort she felt for him was, after all, far larger, far heavier, far more than the love she'd given into his keeping before.

He might not want it.

And to hold herself back, to keep herself apart from him... She didn't even know how. And, in a way, if he couldn't take this larger love, if he couldn't return it... In a way, it would be like losing him, like the Gordo she'd known all her life, the Gordo she'd _had _all her life had disappeared, died maybe, gone forever.

And then, who was the Gordo left behind?

With a teary shrug, she whispered, "So the worst case scenario is really, really awful. At least that's clear."

So, then, what was she to do? Not tell him? And would that be better? She'd still be holding herself apart from him, wouldn't she? She'd still give him all that larger love, but if he didn't know it was there, was she really giving it to him?

Hell. She was giving herself a headache.

And what if she told him, and he said he was in love with her too, and then, somewhere down the road, he stopped? (She tried to imagine _her _doing the stopping, but it was impossible, inconceivable.) After all, he was probably going to college on the other side of the country from her. That was _four years_—at least!—that he had to find someone much better to love than her. And then what?

The questions kept swimming in her head, washing this way and that, disappearing for a few minutes only to resurface, harder and crueler than before. Scenarios, imagined conversations, expressions, certainties turning to doubts, doubts to certainties, all of them swirling round faster and faster until, exhausted, tears still sliding down her cheeks to wet the duvet, Lizzie stumbled into a kind of restless doze.

A firm tattoo on the door woke her, some unknowable time later.

"Cap'n summons m'lady for supper," piped a young voice through the wood. "Y're to present y'rself in his cabin at next bell." And before she could do more than scrub her tear-stiffened cheeks, a quick patter of footsteps retreated up the stairs.

"Aye, aye," Lizzie muttered as she sat up. Squinting through bleary eyes, she realized the room was nearly dark. It was still light outside, but only just, and what little sun remained glowed mellow in the edges of the window panes, trapped before it could penetrate the dimness of the cabin.

Well, at least she'd gotten _some _sleep. 'Course, she probably looked like crap, face all stiff and blotchy from crying, eyes bloodshot, hair a mess. And—Lizzie scanned the room—not a mirror in the whole place, even if there'd been a candle to see with. "My kingdom for a candle," she grumbled, tottering to her feet. But, then, were candles even allowed on ships? Seemed a little...foolhardy...having open flames on ships made almost entirely of such lovely flammable things as wood and rope and canvas.

There _had _been that oil lamp in Zev's cabin, though. So maybe it was just novice sailors...er, guests...that weren't allowed to have open flames aboard ship?

Right. Whatever. Shaking her head, Lizzie decided on a quick finger-comb of her hair, a brisk scrub of her face, and a few stretches that might possibly make her look a little more awake. But she'd no sooner lifted a hand to her hair than from somewhere above decks rang the sedate, demanding chimes of a bell.

"Crap," mumbled Lizzie, raking her hands ineffectually through her hair as she staggered out the door and stumbled up the pitch dark stairway. Drawing a steadying breath, she smoothed her hands over her stomach and stepped out on deck. With a quick look around—for show: Lizzie had absolutely no idea what her eyes scanned over—she made her way to the captain's door and knocked.

Muffled, but unmistakably Zev's voice, "Come," and Lizzie was only too happy to slip inside and shut the door firmly behind her. Zev was the only one in the room, standing, as before, behind his desk, but this time the oil lamp was lit, throwing his face into sharp relief. He looked nothing like Jon Dukov now.

But at least he was smiling. "Ah, m'lady," he said, "prompt as any sailor, I see. Commendable." Lizzie, uncertain how to respond, gave a faint smile and the merest suggestion of a curtsy. "And your amiable self, as well," he continued. "I am indeed honored." The _Yup_ that leapt to her tongue didn't seem quite appropriate, so Lizzie settled for a nod this time. "You slept, I hope?"

Finally something she could answer. Clearing her throat, "Yes, I did."

"Splendid. And once you have eaten, you shall be your own self again." Which really only meant she _did _look like crap. Bother. "But please forgive me. I keep you here when our supper awaits." And with that same startling quickness as before, he rounded the desk, laid hold of her arm, and ushered her through the door at the rear of the room.

Wood walls, wood floors, three windows at the back, two windows to the left—all diamond-paned, of course—a door to the right, and in the middle of the room, a large, square table, draped in a snowy cloth, covered in dishes, ablaze with tall, white candles.

_So candles are definitely allowed_, Lizzie mused as the captain swept her into a chair.

"We serve ourselves," he announced, taking a seat on the other side of the table.

Lizzie, looking up, found the candlelight much more friendly than the oil lamp. Zev was Jon once more, his eyes mirroring a dozen candle flames but still apple-green behind the gilt. Settling herself in her chair, she smiled and said, "Oh, I don't mind."

"I didn't think you would," grinned the captain and Lizzie blinked, certain she felt complimented but equally certain he'd actually meant to insult her. And she too muzzy to parry his thrust adequately.

_Backbone_, she reminded herself, drawing a deep breath for a direct, disarmed, "Why not?"

"What's that?" he asked, helping himself to what looked like a sliver of white fish covered in seaweed.

Licking her lips, she repeated, "Why do you think I'd not mind serving myself?"

"Oh, that," he shrugged, but the eyes he raised to hers were hard. "I simply meant that ladies are fussy about servants tending their needs. You would not be so because you are not a lady."

Ah. So that's what this was about. A _touché _to call her bluff. But Lizzie rather suspected he was trying to punish her for having the effrontery to demand passage on his ship. And in a room he probably meant for someone very specific, someone very much not her. Returning his shrug with one of her own and helping herself to a large portion of the white fish and seaweed, Lizzie nodded.

"Yes," she agreed. "Very true. I am not a lady. I am only Elizabeth—Lizzie to my friends—but, really, that doesn't change the fact that I paid my passage fairly. How long's the journey to Aderet? Two days, I think you said? Come two days hence, you'll be well rid of me, and you can go back to dreaming of whoever you really want in your guest cabin. Geez. It's not as though my being here means you'll never have another person in that room. A little hospitality won't kill you, captain."

For a long moment, Zev just stared at her, but it was a stare that Lizzie found easy to return and in the end it was Zev who dropped his eyes. When he raised them again, they held an apology, his mouth a rueful curve.

"Yes, yes," he said. "You're quite right. I am sorry, Elizabeth. Just...well, this is not quite how I expected my story to go."

And Lizzie, repressing a grin at his choice of words, nodded and countered, "Yes, but perhaps it's the way your story _had _to go?" Of course, since this was one of the fairy tales she _hadn't _read, she had absolutely no idea whether that was true. Still, it seemed the right thing to say.

Apparently, Zev agreed, as he chuckled, "Yes, I suppose you're right. Let us start again?" And at Lizzie's nod, he began to speak of sailing and cargo, his crew and the _Amana_, herself. Before Lizzie knew it, they were laughing over the surprisingly appetizing meal, and by the time he handed her a small, long-stemmed glass of tawny, sweet alcohol, he was easily addressing her as "Miss Lizzie."

"This is your first time aboard ship?" he asked, pouring himself another glass.

Lizzie nodded, swirling her drink lazily before one of the candles. For something so sweet, it had a wicked little kick to it, judging by the warmth in her chest. "I've been on rivers and little lakes, and I've been to the beach, but I've never been on a ship like this before." She laughed. "I'll probably be lost as soon as I step outside."

Draining his glass with a gulp, Zev stood. "Allow me to show you around, then, Miss Lizzie."

Lizzie looked up, startled. "Oh, no. That's not necessary. I'm sure I'll be quite content to spend the next two days holed up in my room."

Zev smirked. "Hardly," he snorted. "You'll only make the seasickness worse, if you do that." Seasickness? Bloody hell. If there were any justice in this world—er, bubble universe—she wouldn't get seasick. Not after the past few days. "Besides," the captain continued, "as a guest, I cannot allow you to wander about utterly lost. Think of the disasters you might unwittingly cause onboard!" Extending a hand, he called an imperious, "Come along."

Only too glad to abandon her drink, Lizzie grinned, took his hand, and allowed herself to be lead out on deck. After the candle-brilliant dining room, the ship seemed a threat of darkness. The moon was only a pale shimmer over the hills of the village, and squat orange lanterns scattered along the deck seemed more to gather heavy shadow than disperse it. The rigging soared above her, a bewildering tangle silhouetted against the thin spangle of starry sky, and—combined with the gentle roll of the deck—soon sent Lizzie staggering, dizzy.

"Easy there," murmured the captain, his hand shifting to her back. "Best not to look up until you've your sea legs."

Squeezing her eyes shut, Lizzie gritted, "Right." But when she opened them again, the night seemed more welcoming, shadows rising against shadows so that she could almost discern squares and circles, line and curve. It wasn't much, of course, but it was better than nothing.

"Shall we?" asked Zev, and with a nod, Lizzie yielded to the gentle pressure of his hand and began slowly walking up the deck.

The captain was a superb guide. Not only did he manage to keep her from running aground on hatches and hooks and the occasional sailor, he also provided a surprisingly lucid explanation of the parts of the ship they passed. Larboard was left, starboard was right. Fore was forward, aft was back. The bow was at the front beyond the fo'c'sle, the stern at the rear behind the quarterdeck. This was the mizzen mast, the mainmast, the foremast, the bowsprit. The yards were there, the sheets here. This door led to the mess—that is, the crew's dining room—and the bell, there, rang the hours and the duty shift. By the time he'd pointed out the helm on the quarterdeck, Lizzie was amazed. The _Amana_ was not a large ship—probably not even half the length of a football field—but there was a great deal of _stuff _packed in and onto her.

Stopping in front of his cabin door, Zev explained, "We stock the last of our provisions early in the morning and leave on the dawn tide, so this is the last night we'll be at anchor. If you're tired, I'd be happy to escort you down to your quarters, but if you'd rather stay awake, the crew always joins in a little revelry before we weigh anchor. You'd be most welcome to join us."

Lizzie certainly wasn't tired...not yet...and since the crew was probably as unwilling to welcome her as Zev had initially been, it was likely a very good idea to join them tonight, when their captain was around to set an example. And so Lizzie nodded, said, "I think I'd like that very much," and made her way on Zev's arm to where a group of crewmen stood near the mainmast.

"D'ye fiddle for us, Mr. Aloway?" she heard the first mate ask.

"Suppose I could," a low voice teased, "an Shoe here wants to dance a jig."

A jostle among the shadowy bulk of sailors. "Gorn," creaked an abashed voice. "'Tain't dancin' nothin' f'you lot."

"You will ere the night's done." A different voice, chirpy but rough with age. "Y'just don't have enough grog in y'yet." The group's laughter swept over Shoe's vehement denials, and Lizzie couldn't help giggling a little herself.

"Cor!" This voice like a mouthful of marbles. "Lady's present, lads!"

Immediately, the laughing ceased and it was all too easy for Lizzie to discern the sudden flash of eyes turning in the faint lantern light. "Lads," Zev stepped in, "I believe you heard we've a guest on board." The eyes which had darted to their captain swerved again to her. Damn, that was uncanny. Like beady little bird eyes and she the worm. "This is Miss Elizabeth. Miss Elizabeth, my crew. Finest bunch of men to be found in any of the nine seas." Lizzie curtsied a greeting, as aware as the crew surely was of the warning in Zev's words: they were to treat her as if they _were_ the best men in all this fairy tale world...or else.

Lizzie wondered idly if the "or else" involved keelhauling.

"Nice t'see you again, Miss Elizabeth," Mr. Jeshin rumbled, and Lizzie caught a nod of the first mate's head amid the shifting, shadowy crew.

"And you, Mr. Jeshin," she smiled in the direction of that nodding head.

"We's about to set Shoe dancin'," a young voice added.

"Oh, no I amn't," Shoe protested with almost religious piety, and the crew was all over laughs and ease once more.

"A simple song, then," Mr. Aloway announced, "to get us started." And without a moment's wait for an answer, he launched into an eager, tripping melody that was joined immediately by at least a dozen voices.

It was, in a way, much the same as that merry feast she and Gordo had shared with the brothers and Lily that last night, but in many other ways it was very different. The songs were much bawdier—oftentimes garbled by the marbly fellow's screeching "Lady's present! _Lady's pre-sent!_"—and the alcohol flowing free. But it was a delight, and Lizzie joined easily in the songs and, eventually, the dancing until at last, still laughing, she dragged herself to bed, almost too happy, almost too exhausted to think of Gordo.

Almost.

**####  
end of chapter 16**

Chapter Notes:  
Again, thanks be to my wonderful, all-knowing Father-Dearest for yet more sailing assistance. Again, all mistakes are mine. :) If you're interested in delving into sailing—and tall ship—terminology (including or beyond the little I've mentioned this chapter), this website was extremely helpful: w w w (dot) schoonerman (dot) com (slash) sailingterms (slash)


	17. Of Seers and Sceptres

_Aha! See! I have kept to my schedule. Am so proud.... Anyway, thanks for all the reviews! **PrincessCaz**, I'm glad you liked the chapter. As for port v. larboard, they're both correct, but I liked the older, more foreign feel of "larboard." **Black Knight 03**, I'm glad both the sailing details and the Gordo-thoughts worked out well; they're the two things I've been most concerned about these past few chapters! **I-Got-Butterflyz**, I haven't had a chance to check out that fic, but I definitely will! As for writing a section from G's POV, it's not so much that I'm afraid or incapable of doing so, as I just _can't_ in this story without ruining the flow. I'd always planned this fic to be L-POV, so all the revelations, realizations, drama, etc. flows from that POV. If, however, after I've finished this and I think G has something to say, I'll see if I can't post a G-POV outtake. :) Yes, **MysteriouslyUnique**, my dad definitely knows his stuff! :D I'm just happy to hear I've done that stuff justice—thank you! Wow, **Jenny**, thank you; I can't tell you how good it is to have some reassurance (that is, praise) on _all_ those points. Keeps me writing, believe me! **Lily**, Gordo's back soon, promise, and I'll update on time, promise, so you won't have too much longer to wait! (Promise) **pixievix**, I'm missing him too. :( Soon, soon, soon! **MP**, there's a little more of the crew in this and the next chapter; I hope it's enough! Thank you, **jennifer**! So that makes graduation, a birthday, and moving into college for the last three chapters, right, **swim6516**? Anything exciting going on _this_ update? (Hope you're enjoying college, by the way!)_

**Chapter 17: Of Seers and Sceptres**

Despite her exhaustion, her first night aboard ship wasn't an easy one. It seemed every noise, every murmur jolted her awake. She roused to the tolling of bells, jumped at the thud of feet on the stairs, started with the ominous creak of the ship's timbers. It wasn't until the first hints of sunrise blued the sky, amid the deafening shouts of sailors loading cargo, that Lizzie at last tumbled light-headed into a sound, dark sleep.

When she surfaced again, her tiny cabin was awash in motion, an eager, joyous see-saw that made Lizzie laugh out loud. Bars of criss-crossed sunlight rose and ebbed along the floor and Lizzie laughed again, half in delight, half in disbelief. Amazing. They must be underway. On a sailing ship. And she not the least bit seasick.

On the next roll—or was it pitch?—she tumbled out of the bed and staggered, grinning, over to the windows. Outside, the ocean lay a rippling bolt of cyan silk, threads of pale foam spooling atop it in the ship's wake. Land, likely the peninsula they'd just left, dominated the horizon as a dark, faintly greenish smudge, hazy with distance, but above it the sky was wide, clear, and washed the translucent blue of Easter eggs.

Beautiful.

She might have stood there an hour longer, absently fingering tangles from her hair as she gaped at the view, had a knock not sounded behind her. Lurching across the room, Lizzie flung open the door to find Abil, the ship's boy, standing outside, a tray in his hands.

"Mornin', miss," he nodded walking past her to set the tray on her little table. "Compliments of the cap'n, miss. Nuncheon. He says as he's busy on deck, he's sorry he can't share the meal, miss, but he hopes y'enjoy it alone. Says too, miss, that y're welcome to wander the _Amana_ as you will once y're done."

"Thanks, Abil," Lizzie said, smiling bemusedly at the deferential bow the ship's boy dropped as he left. And this the same boy who last night, in between bouts of song and dance, most magnanimously condescended to explain to Lizzie, "a new sailor, how-all the ship works."

Still smiling, she zig-zagged to the table and, once safely collapsed into the chair, reached to unwrap the bundles atop the tray. A wedge of pale cheese in one, an elbow of dark, moist bread in another, and a tall, open-mouthed stein of dark, steaming tea beneath the last. "More bread and cheese," Lizzie chuckled, but the bread was heavy, faintly bitter, and the cheese pleasantly spicy. Combined with the lemon bite of the tea, the meal bore almost no resemblance to the bread and cheese on which she and Gordo had been rationed.

In an embarrassingly short amount of time, nothing remained but crumbs and dregs. Uncertain what to do with the tray, Lizzie decided to just leave it where it was for the time being and head above deck. The sun was still shining, though it had ceased painting squares along the floor, and the view through her windows was no longer quite enough. Not for someone who'd spent the last several days outdoors, Lizzie amended, mouth quirking wryly.

With one last glance around the room, and a smooth of her skirts, Lizzie staggered to the door and out into the black passage beyond. She knew her way to the stairs by now, even in the dark, but that didn't stop the ship from throwing her off course. With more luck than skill, she managed to careen into the stairwell and stumble up the steps, hips glancing off first one wall then the other all the way up. She wasn't seasick, but damn if she didn't have the worst pair of landlubber legs. Oy.

"Ho, Miss Lizzie!" came Zev's voice as Lizzie catapulted out of the stairwell. "Joining us at last, I see." By some miracle of the deck's movement, she managed to stay on her feet and even turn around. The captain stood, at ease and with enviable balance, atop the quarterdeck, not a few feet away from the large, spoked-wheel helm.

"Yes," she called back. Then, with a wry frown, added, "Although I'm thinking perhaps I ought to have stayed in my cabin."

"On a day such as this?" The captain's arms flung wide as he negotiated the steep stairs down to the main deck. "Surely you are not so skittish of a little unsteadiness. Here," his arm braced her elbow, "perhaps I can help?" It wasn't perfect, but with Zev swaying at her side the uncertain motion of the ship seemed a little less befuddling. She even managed to keep her legs under her as he led her slowly up the deck.

"We should reach Aderet by tomorrow, late evening," he announced after a moment. "That's almost half a day ahead of what I expected." He laughed, "Thanks be to this miracle of a wind."

Miracle of a _wind?_ "What?"

Zev's eyes met hers, a grin crinkling the corners. "This wind." His free hand curled as though to catch it. "Here in this part of the Middle Sea—near the Nai Islands—the winds are notoriously fickle. Coming out of Eliston, there's a favorable current that helps a little, but the journey into the Islands can take up to a sennight if the winds don't cooperate. But this wind," he laughed again, "I've never seen its like. This wind changes, yes, but it changes to help us...at almost the exact moment we need it. It's as though someone's—"

"Shifting it around?" Lizzie asked, grinning back at him.

"Yes!" The captain's brow folded. "You're not saying _you_—"

"Oh!" She shook her head emphatically. "No, not me."

"But someone." It was not a question. "Someone you know."

Lizzie's grin gained a sheepish bend. Bother. Did the goddess fit under Secrets _Not _To Be Told? Crap. Gordo was right. She sucked at keeping secrets. "Not exactly," she hedged. Zev's frown only deepened. Oy, she sucked, sucked, _sucked_ at keeping secrets. "That is, I don't know her _well_. And I can't say for sure whether the wind's her doing...."

"'Her doing'?" he echoed.

Geez. _Sucked._ "But it probably is."

Zev merely repeated, "Her doing?"

Aw, hell. At least the goddess hadn't sworn her to silence. "The mother of the Sun. You know about her?" No answer was forthcoming. Not that she was surprised. Zev looked incapable of speech—mouth wide open, eyelids flickering in astonishment. Lizzie cleared her throat, took a deep breath. "See, I'm on a quest of sorts. That's why I'm on your ship. The mother of the Sun told me to take the _Amana_ to Aderet—she gave me the pearls for payment—then I'm supposed to find the King of Jagur, who's supposed to know this Crane-guy, who's supposed to help me on the next step. 'Course, I'm hoping to find my friend along the way, but it's possible he's already finished his quest...assuming his quest is _different_ from mine, which isn't altogether certain. Anyway, since I'm hurrying on my way, it's quite likely that the mother of the Sun is helping us to get to Aderet...since she's the one who told me to go there in the first place...but I said that." _And breathe, Lizzie...._

Zev was still blinking. But at least he'd managed to close his mouth. After a long moment, he croaked, "The mother of the Sun?"

Lizzie's mouth itched nervously at one cheek. "Geez, I hope you know who that is."

His head tilted gingerly. "Yes. I know about the mother of the Sun. Mostly just as the wife of the Dragon King, god of the nine seas, but I know who she is." He swallowed. "You're saying the mother of the Sun is shaping the wind to our course?" Without waiting for a reply, he asked, "And she gifted you the black pearls you used as payment?" Eyes wide, "They must be the Dragon King's pearls."

"She did say you were one of her husband's favorite captains," Lizzie offered hopefully, "so maybe she really wants you to have them?"

"One of her husband's favorites?" Zev's shock-blanked eyes kindled. With a bit more of his customary firmness, he said, "Well, that's impressive."

"Yes." Relief nearly tipped her off her unsteady feet. "Yes, it is." No lightning bolts to smite her down, and the captain hadn't fainted at his slight brush with deity. Good. That was good.

"I'm suddenly very glad I didn't toss you overboard yesterday," Zev smirked. "Only think how angry the Mother of the Sun would be right now. Or the Dragon King." He winked. "A thing like that can ruin a sailor, you know."

Uh. "Yes." Overboard? "Would you really have thrown me overboard?"

Oh, he was fully recovered now: the light in the captain's apple-green eyes was positively wicked. "I don't know," he raised an eyebrow. "I was certainly tempted." And with a flourishing bow, he deposited her hand on the starboard rail, stepping away as he asked, "Until supper, dear lady?" Barely awaiting Lizzie's dazed nod, he swept another bow—the hint of a grin at his mouth just as wicked as his eyes—and turned away. Over his shoulder drifted a laughing, "Best of luck finding your sea legs!"

"But..." Lizzie protested to his retreating back. Evil man. Sea legs, indeed. And he'd been _tempted_ to throw her _overboard?!_ Her mouth pressed into an indignant line. Grrrr. Just because she'd surprised him about the mother of the Sun business, that was no reason to—a crack of laughter startled from her chest. Okay, so that was every reason to tease her.

"Fair enough," she muttered. Then, "Sea legs, eh?" Maybe if she took it slowly and held on tight to the ship's rail, she wouldn't knock some poor soul overboard...or herself unconscious. Right.

Right.

But for the moment, she'd just...uh...stay here and...look around a bit. Yup. Lots to see.

And, actually, there was. She'd seen the ship already, of course, briefly as she came aboard yesterday and then on the tour last night. But it'd been dark last night and, anyway, seeing the _Amana_ at anchor was nothing like seeing her in action. Sailors still swarmed the rigging, bent like hairpins over a yard to gather sail, pulling this rope or that, swinging in acrobatic somersaults into the crow's nest—remarkable to watch in itself, but downright thrilling considering the sickening sway of the masts. What was no little motion here on deck became a roller coaster dip and reel up above. Yet the sailors looked at ease in their work—concentrating, yes, but nimble and sure for all that.

And the men on deck were a symphony of movement. Lizzie couldn't understand the commands they jumped to, but it was obvious they worked to a well-ordered synchronicity. Like a machine, almost. Frenetic, but purposeful. Nearly serene, despite the din of shouts and chanting, the hustle and the urgency. Not a machine so much as a dance, Lizzie amended, watching, fascinated.

There was no better way to travel the ocean, Lizzie was certain. There were safer ways, no doubt, and faster, but this way was best. This way, the _Amana_ and all her citizens were a part of the water and the wind—a vessel of neither masterfully twining the two forces together. What had Seth said? Something about sweet poetry? She was, the _Amana_—poetry. Poetry and freedom and hazard and joy.

Lizzie let her eyes skim the ocean, wandering up tall, rippling waves dimpled by wind, noting dark, still troughs, wild, white crests. The sun glimmered hard silver in the distance, and she let the brilliance sear her eyes before she closed them. Eyes shut, the world was lulling motion in which she could _just_..._almost_...find the pattern. Fingers of wind threaded through her hair, sea water misting off the bow to salt her lips. And the crack of canvas, the hollow call of air in her ears, and above all the rustle, grumble, roar of ocean grudging their passage.

She was going to gain sea legs if it killed her. No more clinging to the rail, not when the wind, the sea, the ship herself dared Lizzie to ride free and unfettered.

Not to mention Zev didn't seem to think she could do it.

Opening her eyes, Lizzie turned from the rail, stepped away, and let go.

For the rest of the afternoon, she meandered all over the deck—truly meandering at first, from one solid grip to the next, but after a little while achieving a comfortable rolling stride. She paused at the helm to chat with the pilot's mate, stopped in the bow where some of the off-duty crew gathered, and watched as, bit by bit, the peninsula behind them faded and the lumps of Nai Islands ahead grew larger and, slowly, sharper.

Mostly, though, she tried not to think. Because, beyond the occasional moment of awe at the ship, the crew, the sea, thinking really meant Thinking About Gordo.

Again, she agonized over whether to tell him she loved him. _In love, Liz...in love_. Frankly, she just didn't like the odds. If she told him, he might a) apologize 'cuz he doesn't feel the same, b) lie and say he does, c) say he loves her, go away to college, and fall out of love with her, or d) really love her, for ever and ever, amen. Which meant only one-in-four chances of a positive outcome.

But then, what would happen if she didn't tell him? She'd already established that she _sucked_ at keeping secrets, so she probably wouldn't be able to act as though nothing had changed. And apparently she also got really jealous at the thought of Gordo dating someone else, so, again, probably not gonna be able to keep to the status quo. So if she didn't tell him, their friendship was pretty much shot.

Plainly, the one-in-four chance was better odds than no chance at all.

If only the former didn't scare the hell out of her.

And, really, she could probably revise the odds to one-in-five. Either she told him (with the four possible options there) or she didn't (the fifth option). In all five options, their friendship was going to change. That was inevitable. She just wasn't sure she wanted to risk all the humiliation of telling him how she felt just on the off-chance that the change might be for the better.

_Nonononono._ No more thinking. None at all.

Sometime while she'd been deep in thought, the sun had set and twilight fallen. From where she stood at the larboard rail near the mizzen mast, the moon was nearly right in front of her, three-quarters full and glowing like a pearl. The sky behind it and the sea beneath it nearly melted into one, both a shade of blue Lizzie had never seen before. _This_ was what they meant by navy blue—a deep indigo with a touch of yellow and red, a purplish blue with gold undertones, plush, rich, so heavy it could almost be velvet. And trailing below the pearly moon, a glittering reflection undulating on the waves.

Funny, Lizzie thought, eyes filled with the beauty of the dusk, everyone said the moon left a silvery path on water. But here the path was jade and lemon, cornflower and saffron, a radiant swath of shimmering, changeable _gold_.

"Breathtaking, is it not?"

Lizzie flicked a glance at Zev, leaning on the rail beside her. "I suppose 'breathtaking' comes closest, yes," she smiled.

The captain gave an appreciative chuckle. "Sometimes, when we've been at port too long, I forget there are sights like this one to be found out here. Forgetting, I could just about cheerfully give all this up. But I always remember. Eventually." Was that a note of _rue_ in his voice?

"You seem as though you wouldn't mind forgetting," she said, trying not to sound as curious as she felt. It was his business, after all.

For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, clearing his throat, his tone unusually solemn, "Yes. Well, I'm not really a captain, you know. That is, I had never planned to be a sailor. I became one for a very good reason, and it's that...reason...that I sometimes wish to forget." Another long, silent pause. "It's not a bad life, of course, and there's challenge and beauty aplenty," he swept a hand at the moonlit dusk, "but I've been living aboard a ship for nigh on five years now and I'm—tired." The word came on a resigned sigh, as though it did and yet did not quite say what he really meant.

Turning to him as she murmured an apology, Lizzie couldn't help but think again of that odd exchange between Zev and his crew when she'd first come aboard yesterday. The moonlight glazed the captain's eyes, hiding any truths lurking there, but caught the long, pained lines etching his mouth, sharpened the defensive hunch of his shoulders. It was plain, now, that the grief she'd sensed between Zev and Mr. Jeshin the day before was Zev's alone. And if that same grief had nothing to do with the guest quarters and the someone he wished to stay in them, Lizzie would jump overboard.

Maybe that was the reason he mentioned for becoming a sailor? He was looking for someone?

Shaking her head, Lizzie turned back to the ocean. It really was Zev's business. She had no right prying into something that was obviously painful. No matter how curious she was. No matter how much she empathized....

_Gordo again. Dammit._

Scrambling to turn the subject, Lizzie suddenly remembered what Seth had asked her to tell the captain. "Do you know someone named Seth?" she said abruptly.

Zev jumped. "Seth?" he asked, puzzlement plain in his voice. "Yes, I know a fellow named Seth. He's something in the way of a divin—" he stiffened. "Did you meet him?" he demanded, one hand clamping urgently onto her forearm.

Blinking, startled, Lizzie could only stammer, "Y-yes, he's the one who told me how to get on board the _Amana_. Not _stay_ on board—that was all my idea—but find you, if only—"

"Did he say anything?" Zev interrupted, fingers pinching tighter around her arm. "Did he mention me?"

Lizzie's brow furrowed. "Yes. We were talking about your ship, after all. But he did want me to tell you—ouch!" The captain's grip had become painful. With an apologetic wince, he loosened it. "He wanted me to tell you he had a feeling about me. That if anything came of it, you'd pay him for helping me, yourself." The hand fell away, Zev tilting his head back to release a breath to the sky, his whole body slumping. In relief? Despair? "What?" Lizzie pressed. "What's it mean?" This time, her hand found his forearm. Tugging on his sleeve, she repeated, "What did he mean, Zev? Is everything all right?"

Zev's head came down, eyes brilliant with a light not entirely of the moon. "I could kiss you, Miss Lizzie," he laughed.

Despite herself, Lizzie recoiled a little. "Not that I'm not flattered, Zev, but..._what?_"

He laughed again, a light, incredulous sound. "Seth is a diviner, Miss Lizzie, a seer of sorts. He doesn't have visions—nothing so clear or obvious—but he gets what he calls feelings: a sense that this is a right action and that a wrong one, here's a right place, there's a wrong one. Nothing easy or simple or specific, but useful in its way." He shook his head. "I asked Seth's help years ago, but he had nothing to tell me. And now, you come along...and he has a _feeling_...finally! Four winds," he swore, "if he's right, he can have my crown...and joy of it!"

_Crown?_ What the _hell?_ "Wait a minute," Lizzie protested, "_what_ are you talking about? A seer? And help on what? And what's this about your _crown?_" The last was a shrill squeak, and Lizzie was aware of not a few sailors stopping to stare at her.

But Zev only laughed again—which was becoming just _slightly _irritating now—and took her elbow. "As you are turning out to be quite the good luck charm—" he announced, ushering her toward his quarters, "a fact which none of my crew debates after today's winds, by the way—I shall trouble myself to explain the whole story. But let us do so over our meal, shall we?" As they were, by then, already inside the captain's office, Zev marching across to the dining room door, Lizzie could only nod. "Good." And then he was settling her in a chair, loading up a plate for both of them, and talking again.

"As I said earlier," he explained, sitting down, himself, "I never planned to become a sailor. Never trained for it. In fact, most of my training has been in philosophy, mathematics, political and economical theory, and history, with a dash of music to please my mother, a lady of considerable musical skill, herself. My learning has been all that is suitable for a man who would in future take up the crown and sceptre to rule his country. I am, you have guessed, a prince." Lizzie, mouth full of tart, spiced apple, could only roll her eyes at the nonchalant way he delivered an utterly shocking statement. No wonder he'd been so intimidating when she'd first met him: he wielded not only a captain's authority, but a king's. That was enough to have just about anyone shaking in their slippers, let alone a young, solitary chick-from-another-universe. Oy.

But Zev was still speaking. "The school I attended was the best in this world, of course—a school designed to train royalty to their positions. Thoroughly detestable place, really, just as you'd expect of a campus full of obnoxious, arrogant students used to having their every whim obeyed. So it's not terribly surprising that my first few years there were bitterly lonely. But then I met Judith.

"The only daughter of an emperor, she was a few years younger than me, but utterly brilliant. Almost from the first moment of her arrival, we shared scholars and lessons, and as she was the only person I'd met there with even a mote of sense and kindness, we swiftly became friends. And over the years, from friends we became something more.

"I think I fell in love with her first, but I never would have told her—" he chuckled, "too afraid, you understand, and I knew my father had betrothed me in my cradle to some unknown princess—but on the last day of our studies together, Judith kissed me. And then, of course, it all came out. That she loved me, I loved her...we resolved to marry one another, arranged betrothals be damned. Imagine my surprise, then, when my father told me the princess he'd determined I would marry _was _Judith. Her father and mine had met and agreed to the betrothal before either of us were born."

Zev smiled—a distant, reminiscent smile. "I was in alt, of course." Lizzie frowned. _Alt?_ Presumably, he meant joy, delight maybe...? "I set out immediately to see her. But something had gone wrong. I believe, now, that the emperor must have been feeling pressure from a neighboring kingdom, or maybe an advisor nervous about allying their country with my own. Regardless, he betrothed Judith in her absence to a lord of his own court. So when I arrived to see my beloved, he did all he could to keep us apart.

"In the end, though, we found one another and decided to run away to marry under my father's authority. On the way, we stopped at a small island to replenish our supplies. I left Judith gathering fruit near the boat while I went inland to hunt, and when I returned," Zev's voice faltered, but Lizzie could guess what happened next.

Swallowing her last bite of fish, she finished, "She was gone." Zev nodded, forking a bite of his own fish. It was probably cold by now. To let him eat, and perhaps regain his composure, Lizzie went on. "So you became a sailor, to look for her?" Another nod. "And asked Seth for help, but he couldn't tell you where to look. Until now, when he suddenly got a feeling about me." Lizzie settled back in her chair, pushing her empty plate away. "Does that mean Judith might be in Jagur? Aderet even?"

"I hope so." There was a wealth of emotion in those three words—hope, certainly, but longing and sadness and grief and a flickering flame of fierce, fierce joy. Lizzie closed her eyes. Geez, she couldn't even imagine...loving someone so much only to be separated for almost five years, separated and worrying for that person's safety. Worrying and wondering, surely, whether that person had changed...still loved you...even after five years....

Lizzie's eyes flickered open. All right, so maybe she could imagine. _That_ scenario sounded downright familiar. "I hope she's there, Zev. I really hope she is." But...damn, was it wrong to ask him? He had suffered through five years of heartache; she didn't need to add to it. But he _had_ to have thought the same thoughts before, right? And could she afford _not_ to ask him?

Swallowing dryly, she coughed, then murmured, "C-can I ask you something? About—about you and Judith?" If he said no, she'd leave it alo—

"Yes." He sounded perplexed, but willing.

_Please don't hate me._ "Do you worry that maybe she's...that maybe Judith doesn't...l-love you...now...anymore? That she's changed?" _Please, _please _don't hate me!_

The silence stretched so long, Lizzie couldn't help lifting her eyes from the immaculate tablecloth to meet his. He didn't look furious o-or shattered, at least. "Why," he said at last, a hint of the usual sarcasm edging his voice, "do I get the feeling this isn't a question about me?"

Of course he'd guess. Lizzie felt the blush sweep fast and furious into her cheeks. "Because I'm about as subtle as a blow to the head, maybe?" she asked with what she hoped was a charming smile. Eyes and smile dropping, she continued in a near whisper, "I...just...your situation is very similar to one I find myself in. I was hoping—"

"—Maybe I might be able to help? In all my superior wisdom and all?" Oh, yeah. That was definitely good old dry Captain Zev. But before she could answer, he said, "Since you may very well have led me to my betrothed, I suppose it's the least I can do. But you'd best explain the whole of it."

And so Lizzie did, painfully, feeling nearly as humiliated as she expected to feel when telling Gordo, and with not nearly as much style and insouciance as Zev had told his own, doubtless just-as-uncomfortable tale. But at last she finished, her voice winding into silence as Zev swallowed the last bite of his supper. Breathless, stomach fluttery, she waited for the captain to respond, but he merely stood and poured them each a glass of the same alcohol-stuff with which they'd finished yesterday's meal.

Returning to the table, he set her glass in front of her and sipped from his own. Lizzie knotted her hands together in her lap and squeezed. The quiet was almost deafening.

Zev drew a long, deep breath. "You need to tell him," came his soft verdict.

_Tell him._ The words rang like a death knell. _OhnoOhnoOhnoOhno._ "But—" she started, only for the protest to die away as Zev's hand came up.

"You know you need to tell him, Miss Lizzie. I don't think you need me to tell you that. Or maybe you do, if my giving you an order makes you feel better. You'll regret not chancing it, if you don't, but more importantly, your Gordo deserves to know." Zev took another sip from his glass. "Judith deserved to know when I fell in love with her. As my dearest friend, she had earned the right to my secrets. Especially the ones regarding her. Wise as she was, she understood that and had the courage, moreover, to risk all on that kiss.

"If your friendship will change—and you said yourself, it will change no matter what happens—better that it change for honesty than for lies. Gather your courage, my friend, and tell him. Do it with a kiss if you can't say the words, but do it. You may surprise yourself with the results."

Another sip, another long silence as Lizzie let the captain's words sink in. Then, "As to whether Judith still loves me—and whether your Gordo will still love you even if you part—there is no certainty in these matters. There never really is in anything, but the fact is that I love her, and because I love her I must trust that she still loves me. I must have faith that any changes wrought in her, or in me, will not change our regard for one another. If you cannot have that faith in either yourself or your Gordo, what you feel is not love, Miss Lizzie. Not the love you should feel, anyway. The right sort of love should require your faith and your courage and your strength...all the best parts of who you are. Any other sort of love will pale in time. Of that, I am certain."

And what was there to say to that? She was still struggling to assimilate what he'd said, but she already felt the truth in his words. If only she could let herself—ha, _make_ herself—act on them.

With a last gulp, Zev finished his glass and pointed at hers. "You've a lot to think on, Miss Lizzie, and tomorrow we arrive at Aderet. Finish your port; it'll help you sleep. Then tomorrow you can think yourself into a stupor all over again." Setting his glass on the table, "I know I certainly will. Drink."

With an unsteady hand, Lizzie obediently lifted her port and drained it in several quick swallows. The heavy, sweet liquor burned a trail down her throat to settle warmly in her stomach. Zev chuckled as she set her glass down.

"Good girl. Now get yourself to your bunk before you can't stand up." With a wink, he rose as she did. "Tomorrow, once we dock, I'll show you around Aderet."

Lizzie summoned a smile. "And tomorrow," she countered, "once we dock, you'll tell me what your Judith looks like, so I can help you find her." As though she couldn't guess. If Zev looked like Jon Dukov, Judith doubtless looked like Miranda. Damn, it'd be good to see Miranda, especially if she couldn't find Gordo.

Gordo.

_Bed, McGuire, _she ordered herself, _before you can't stand up anymore._ And putting Gordo as firmly and far from her mind as possible—not very, as it turned out—she bid Zev a good night and slipped off for her own quarters.

**####  
end of chapter 17**

Chapter Notes:  
Yet another thank you to my ingenious, awesome Father-Dearest. Yet another _mea culpa_ for any mistakes made. If anyone's interested in more of this lovely sailing stuff, may I recommend the incredible Patrick O'Brian? To get into the sailing mood, I read his _The Golden Ocean_, detailing Commodore George Anson's voyage around the world in pursuit of Spanish navy and merchant ships. Apart from his superb knowledge of the sailing life, O'Brian is a fantastic storyteller and an adept, elegant, _hilarious_ writer. If you don't know his books, you've probably at least heard of the movie _Master and Commander: the Far Side of the World_, which was based on his Aubrey/Maturin novels. I also want to recommend the book _Historic Sail: the Glory of the Sailing Ship from the 13th to the 19th Century_ (plates by Joseph Wheatley, text by Stephen Howarth). I based the _Amana_ on Plate 84, the East Indiaman _Falmouth_, 1752 (part warship, part merchant ship). There's also info and an illustration (Plate 83) of a ship like the _Centurion_, the ship from _The Golden Ocean_.


	18. Reunion

_So many reviews! Wow! **MP**, I didn't know Zev meant 'wolf' in Hebrew; although, the Zev-Judith fairy tale, from which I borrowed the names, is Jewish—'wolf' suits him, I think. :D **Black Knight 03**, I shall definitely have to see what Gordo has to say...I'm not entirely sure what he's been up to these past few chapters! **Kay**, wow, thank you...I hope you like this chapter, too. :) Awesome, **Lara783**, if I'm dragging you into fantasy, I'm doing something right. There's always a slight chance you'll stay and wander around for a bit. ;) **Mandy**, thank you so much—that's exactly what I hope happens whenever someone picks up this story; as for 'old-fashioned,' no worries...I'm an old-fashioned girl. :D **Caz**, behold! Thy chapter long-wished-for has arrived! **swim6516**, contributing to homework-distraction is one of the best parts of this job. ;) **PaLM TRee 101**, thank you so very, very much; I don't think there's much better than hearing 'enchanting,' 'exquisite,' and 'beautifully' all describing _my _writing! **Elise Foster**, here's the next chapter...I hope it continues to shine in _all _those aspects (please, please, please). Don't worry, **dreamer**, this ditty will absolutely get finished. That's the trouble with sea voyages, **Mystique**, what _can _you do while they're in progress, but think and wish for Gordo? But I'm glad you enjoyed the scenery...especially the moon snippet, which I pray comes even a bit close to the real spring twilight over the Penzance promenade. And, **Lil'**, we certainly don't want you to go insane...to that end, I intend to update once/2 weeks...Thursdays or Fridays, if I can swing it. :D_

**Chapter 18: Reunion**

Cale Aloway, the ship's surgeon—and sometime musician—extended a callused, long-fingered hand over the bow rail. "There," he announced with great satisfaction. "_That_, Miss Lizzie, is Jagur."

The _Amana_ had just rounded the blunt point of Abira, one of the larger Nai Islands. Beyond the curving island shore, past a break of brilliant ocean, lay a jet and emerald rope of land. _Jagur._ From this distance, it looked much like all the other Nai Islands they'd passed: fecund, the bent, arthritic ridges of the island's spine soothed and softened beneath heavy, rich, verdant growth. The ocean—clear, clear water striated jade, turquoise, teal, and azure—beat against high, black cliffs or lapped at salt-and-pepper beaches.

"Just as the captain predicted," Aloway continued, hand dropping to the rail. "We've yet to swing 'round t'the other side of the island, but as we make Aderet Harbor the sun should be falling into late evening."

"Exactly as Zev said," Lizzie nodded, smiling.

Aloway smiled back. "Exactly."

"So, Aderet tonight, where the _Amana_ will drop anchor—"

"Dock, actually," the surgeon corrected. "The harbor's deep enough to dock."

"Dock, then," Lizzie said. "The _Amana_ will dock, presumably for the night, but what then? I leave, of course, but will you all sail off tomorrow morning?"

Aloway frowned, ruffled a hand through pale, flyaway hair, then dropped it to pinch the bridge of his long, hooked nose; it was a gesture Lizzie, in one day's company with the man, had already come to recognize as a signal of deep thought. "Mmm-maybe," the surgeon hummed. "We don't stand in need of provisions, but 'tis possible the captain will want to shuffle around for a commission. Did he mention anything about his intent this morning?"

"No." After a good night's rest, Lizzie had awakened early enough to breakfast with Zev, but what little conversation they'd shared had centered around the captain's expectations for the day. After again asserting that they'd reach Aderet Harbor before dusk, he'd explained he'd be unavailable to keep her company on deck—too busy being the captain—and advised her to use the time to consider his words of the night before.

Lizzie had, of course, immediately spent the next many hours speaking with anyone and everyone within earshot of the bow. As an avoidance tactic, it worked pretty well, especially after Cale Aloway had joined her and began expounding on the history, climate, trade, politics, and culture of the Nai Islands. The surgeon would have made an excellent teacher.

"So, 'tis possible we may stay a few days," he was saying. "Once we've docked, Captain Zev should be free an you want to ask him yourself."

"I'll do that," Lizzie smiled. "Thank you."

"Pleasure," Aloway dipped his head.

Silence fell between them as Lizzie again examined the nearing island. Almost to Jagur. And then only a little time until they reached Aderet. And then all she had to do was find the island's king and she'd be one step closer to home. _All you have to do, McGuire?_ Lizzie almost laughed. _You are _spoiled_, Elizabeth McGuire. Hobnobbing with several princes, a handful of princesses, a queen, and a king has apparently blinded you to the possible difficulties in gaining access to _this_ king._

After all, her other encounters with royalty had occurred more or less in the middle of nowhere, not in a city like Aderet...or even a village like Eliston. It was entirely possible she'd have to wait several days—even weeks—before she was granted an audience with the King of Jagur. And what, exactly, was she going to do while she waited? She didn't even have currency for food or lodgings.

_Wonderful._

Turning to Aloway, she asked, "Do you know anything about the King of Jagur?"

"Hmm?" he started, pale blue eyes swinging round to meet hers. "Jagur's king?" Lizzie nodded. "I've not heard much of him, but I do know he's only lately taken up the crown. It was a rather peculiar case, as I recall, for the man was not of royal blood, let alone of Nai Island royalty, when he became king."

So it might be possible to appeal to his more... common... background. Perhaps if she presented her situation as urgent enough, she might get in to see the guy without dealing with the bubble universe version of Take A Number.

"For all that," Aloway went on, "he seems to be doing a fine job. That is, I've not heard much, but what I have heard has not been in the way of grievances."

"I see." There were a hundred other Jagur-questions she could probably ask the ship's surgeon, but none of them seemed likely to help her come to any conclusions on how to gain access to the island's king. Sighing, Lizzie resigned herself to puzzling over the issue all by herself and settled to silently watching as the island drew nearer and, eventually, swept past on the larboard side. When at last the _Amana_ docked, it was all Lizzie could do not to groan in relief. If nothing else, Aderet Harbor provided some much-needed distraction.

And distracting it definitely was. Instead of standing inside a sheltering crescent of land, like Eliston's harbor, it speared in several long quays from a rippling succession of ragged, black cliffs. Where the quays met land, wide stone roads took the place of soaring, sea-weathered rock, but those roads soon rose as well, swiftly lost to sight behind another towering ridge of rock. Somewhere beyond that ridge must lie Aderet's city, people...king.

"Ready to disembark?" came Zev's voice behind her. Lizzie swung a dubious frown his way, and the captain laughed. "Not very welcoming, is it?" he agreed. "It's an old fortification, as Mr. Aloway might have explained, not only from invaders but from the occasional rough seas the winds bring. Here, sheltered behind the Inon Island—" he gestured past the harbor to a nearby dab of land, "—the winds are rarely bad, but the islanders have had enough experience with the vagaries of the Nai Island winds not to trust their fortune too far." He extended his arm. "The city and the people are far friendlier than their harbor appears, believe me. Shall we?"

Lizzie, with one last look at the forbidding wall of dark cliffs, shrugged and looped her hand inside the captain's elbow. "Certainly."

"Said all your farewells?" he asked her as they walked across the gangway to the quay.

"As many as I could," she smiled, remembering earlier that afternoon as nearly every one of the crew came to share a few words and, "if'n I don't see you, bid y'fair journey." "Nearly everyone except you, of course."

"And you'll have to wait to say farewell to me, I'm afraid. Though I'd planned to leave as soon as I'd delivered myself of the journey's 'precious cargo,'" he smirked, "you and Seth together have convinced me to stay a time, perhaps look around the city."

"Ah," Lizzie nodded, "Judith."

One eyebrow winged up over a twinkling green eye. "I see you _were_ listening last night. I wondered, you know, as you didn't seem at all inclined to listen this morning. I believe I cautioned you to ponder _my_ wisdom, not seek that of every other crew member with a moment to spare. Poor Mr. Aloway. I fear in your hours of conversation, you've dragged the last morsel and mite of learning from his mind. He probably can't even recall how to set a broken finger. You've turned my surgeon quite useless. I am afraid I shall have to demand recompense." That same eye winked, but knowing he was teasing didn't soothe the heat from her cheeks.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled to her toes as they stepped from the rougher rock quay onto the smooth, wide slabs of stone road.

"And I should say I'm sorry for calling your guilt into play," Zev murmured back, leaning close, "but the truth is I'm not. Sorry, that is. Perhaps a touch of guilt will compel you to consider your situation. It is a serious one, I think. But, then," a self-deprecating chuckle, "having devoted years of my life to a similar cause, I should be absurd indeed to say otherwise."

Lizzie looked up, squeezed the arm beneath her hand. "No. You're right. It is serious. And important. That just makes it harder to deal with. But I promise I _will _think about what you've said—and more, I'll act on it, I swear. Just not yet—"

"O-ho!" the captain scoffed under his breath. "'_Not yet_.'"

"No, not yet," she insisted, blushing, fiercely uncomfortable. "Listen, Zev, coward though I am, I'm not saying that for me, okay? I promised to help you look for Mi—Judith. So why don't we work on that before you chuck me kicking and screaming into the black, bottomless pit of my own terror! Can we do that?" Calves and lungs protesting as she strained ahead on the steep path, Lizzie couldn't quite bring herself to relinquish Zev's supporting arm. But she wanted to. Oh, she _definitely_ wanted to.

A moment later, that arm stopped suddenly, halting Lizzie in mid-step. Swinging around with a startled grunt, her eyes found grave urgency in his. "This time I am sorry," he said quietly. "I know you're not a coward. I shouldn't have said that."

"No," she agreed.

"I just—well, there's no excuse for it. And I _am_ unutterably grateful for your offer to help me." His arm dropped from her grip only for his hand to catch hers in a brief clinch.

She shrugged. "S'okay, I guess."

A smile touched his mouth. "Good. Shall we walk on, then? And I'll describe my lady-love for you?" The arm came up; nodding, Lizzie again looped her hand around his elbow.

The rest of the breathless hike up the ridge was spent in discussing Judith. As far as Lizzie could tell, beneath the captain-prince's romantic flourishes and elaborate, enamored comparisons of hair to "raven's wings" or skin to "the sweet, fragrant softness of a zephyr," Judith was indeed Miranda.

Not surprising, but it did make Lizzie wonder whether the bubble universe provided some kind of prophecy as to her friends' futures. Am matched with Larry, Ethan with Maggie, and now Jon with Miranda. Even, in a way, she with Gordo. She'd just have to see whether Veruca ended up with some kind of Loyde look-alike. And would that mean Kate would eventually be married to one guy, in love with another? Or was it all meant to be more metaphorical...?

But in the next instant, all bubble-universe philosophical pondering was forgotten. They'd reached the top of the ridge, all Aderet spread below them.

It was as far away from the harbor's bleak greeting as possible. Gentle hills rolled down on three sides to meet the sheer rock face of the fourth, where a filmy sheet of jade water plunged to thunder in the valley. A flounce of prismatic, snowy lace frothed at the waterfall's hem, misting over the beginnings of a sinuous aquamarine stream. Black stone-paved streets wound in aimless curves over the hills to meet wide, black stone-paved market squares. And everywhere, perched on the hillsides, clustered about the river, deeply nestled in the island's rich greenery, were houses, the stone walls washed white or canary yellow, apricot or coral.

"And the King's palace, there," Zev whispered in her ear. Lizzie followed his pointing finger with wide eyes. Atop the cliff, some distance back from the edge, a rocky spike of an island stood in the midst of the river rushing over the falls. And on this island, made of the same black stone and distinguished only by a collection of straight, square edges, crouched a fortress, the narrow slits of its windows squinting out over the valley.

"How on earth am I supposed to get in _there?_" Lizzie blurted, all the charm and beauty of the city fading beneath the watchful glare of those windows.

"We'll figure something out," Zev said, "don't worry."

Lizzie snorted.

"If nothing else," Zev laughed, urging her forward, "I _am _a prince."

Oh. Yeah. She'd completely forgotten about that.

A smile curved into a grin. "Yes. You are. I _love _having friends in high places!" Giving a little joyous whoop of triumph—and ignoring the voice in the back of her head telling her what an _idiot_ she'd been not remembering _that_ crucial fact—she hurried down into the city. "Let's find your princess, Your Wonderful Highness."

"My what?"

Maybe they didn't use that address here. Oh, well. "Never mind. Just lead the way. We've got a lot of city to get through." And already the sun was sinking into the horizon. Dusk wasn't at all far off.

"We do," Zev agreed. "Perhaps we should have simply stayed aboard and waited to begin looking tomorrow morning, but I find myself impatient—"

"Understandably," Lizzie interjected.

"—and if we search perhaps a few squares tonight, that's a few squares less to worry over tomorrow."

"Absolutely." Not least because the sooner Zev found Judith, the sooner Lizzie could storm the castle and get on with this quest thingy. _And the sooner I'll see Gordo._

For all her worries on what to do about him, there was no denying she missed him like crazy.

Setting that thought firmly aside—_Judith, Lizzie, remember Judith_—Lizzie turned her focus on the city around them. Almost immediately on starting down into Aderet, the streets were filled with people. Mostly dark-haired and dark-eyed, the shorter natives of the island were easy to spot. Although that should have made it easier for Lizzie to focus on all the non-natives, of which Miranda-Judith should be one, she couldn't quite manage to do so.

The foreigners, of varying height, shape, and coloring, were almost invariably garbed in sober blues, browns, greens, and greys. Amid these earthy colors, the Jagur islanders bloomed like so many tropical flowers. Gauzy drapes of fuchsia warred with a wide lemon sash, plum skirts belled beneath a sleeveless, tangerine robe, turquoise trousers flapped against a salmon tunic. Everything was airy, loose, light, and very, very vivid. It was nearly impossible to look away from the natives long enough to even note the existence of non-natives.

There were, however, a handful of islanders not dressed so brilliantly. Clothed in black, billowing tunic and trousers, curved swords hanging at their waists, wide, shield-like plates of metal secured from shoulder to elbow, their breastplates were all painted with the same black symbol: a single line, swooping up to a point then down again, only to curve back on itself in a kind of stylized ocean wave. Lizzie didn't need Zev to tell her these islanders were the city's guard.

"I can't believe how busy it is!" she shouted to Zev as they struggled through the loud, rapidly thickening throng. He threw her a quick, questioning glance before returning his attention to navigating the street. "I mean, it's almost dusk," she explained. "You'd think they'd be snug in their houses, eating or something. Not...out here."

"Well, in the city proper, they probably are," the captain nodded. "Here, in the quarter closest to the docks, their evenings are spent a little differently. This, to be perfectly correct, is known as Harbor Town. The city's true entrance is down there," he pointed further along the street, "around the curve of the hill. Harbor Town centers around the harbor's needs, which, in turn, means the merchants' needs, the ships' needs, and—at night—the sailors' needs." Seeing Zev's wink, Lizzie thought she could likely guess what those _needs_ entailed.

"Ah," she said anyway, "Wine, women, and song?"

Zev laughed. "'Tis close enough, and a very tidy way to say it, I admit. I shall have to remember that: wine, women, and song." He laughed again.

"If that's so," Lizzie called, eyes scanning as many of the faces they passed as she could, "do you really think Mi-Judith would be here?"

Even over the raucous noise, Lizzie could hear the captain's sigh. "I dearly hope not. Especially not on this main thoroughfare, which caters almost entirely to sailors. But I suppose something might have happened to keep her from purchasing better quarters in the city. And if she is here, she's arrived by ship, so perhaps she thought it reasonable to stay near the harbor. Still, for all that, we shall start our search in Aderet, not Harbor Town. I will hope she has the best of accommodations until forced to believe otherwise."

They rounded a curve of street—a corresponding curve of hill on one side—and Zev slowed. "There," he said, gesturing with a tilt of his chin, "that gate is the main entrance to Aderet."

Lizzie obediently shifted her gaze forward. For a gate, it lacked all typical gate accoutrements. No swinging gate door, no walls, not even two posts from which to hang a nonexistent gate. Instead, the stone road simply widened into a square courtyard, a life-size statue of a boldly posed man at its center. That the courtyard was noticeably clearer than the street and inhabited by many more city guards was the only thing that marked it as being in any way significant.

"Not much of a gate," Lizzie drawled.

"No," Zev conceded, "but in all the years I've been here, Aderet has never needed anything more."

Dipping her head, "Well, then, lead on, intrepid sir. Let's see if we can't find this princess of yours." With a smile, Zev stepped up their pace, and Lizzie, her arm still looped in his, allowed him to guide her down the street as she perused each and every face nearby.

They had almost reached the statue at the center of the courtyard when Lizzie tripped over Zev. Tumbled in a sprawl of limbs—not all of them, she was certain, hers—and skirts and hair, it took several moments before she managed to right herself. Twitching her dress into place, yanking her hair out of her eyes, she turned to demand an explanation from her erstwhile escort.

Zev was kneeling on the black stone of the square, not a thread or a hair out of place, for all the world completely unaware of her existence. And he was crying.

Well, not crying, she amended, scrambling closer, but almost there. His eyes glittered in the failing light, tears nearly flooded over the lower lids, his jaw clenched, breath gusting with bare control through his flaring nostrils.

"What—?" she whispered, fingers wrapping around his fist. "Zev?"

But he didn't move, not a muscle, not an eyelash, his gaze fixed somewhere...above... Lizzie turned. The only thing there was that statue. Nothing special there, she frowned, just another islander in wide stone trousers and tunic, curved sword a counter to the stubborn jut of the figure's jaw.

Lizzie's eyes widened. _That _was a very familiar jaw. And, her eyes flitting, _that_ was a very familiar mouth, not to mention _that_ nose, and there was no mistaking _those_ cheekbones..._or_ ears..._or_ eyes.

"Judith," she breathed. Her glance took in the stone hair pulled into a severe topknot, the stone circlet, set with stone gems, resting on a very familiar stone brow. Lizzie teetered to her feet. "Damn," she said, mostly to herself, "Who'd have thought the King of Jagur is really a Queen."

And then, things started happening very fast.

"Hey!" a shout from behind whirled her around. Every last one of the guards standing sentry in the courtyard was rushing at them. Instinctively, she backed away only to watch in horror as the guards surrounded the still-stunned Zev and hauled him to his feet.

"Hey!" it was Lizzie's turn to shout. "What are you doing?"

None of the guards answered. Instead, they began marching out of the square, Zev inside their steel-bristled circle, toward the center of the city. "What are you doing?" Lizzie yelled again, panic fast-rising in her chest. "Where are you taking him? He didn't do anything wrong! Zev!" She was screaming now, turning to the thin crowd around her. "Help me! Someone, help me!" But no one even looked at her; everyone just kept walking. "_Zev!_"

An answering shout. "Lizzie?" Oh, thank heaven, at least he wasn't in that stupor anymore.

"Zev!" she called again. Maybe he'd be able to fight his way out? Even as she thought it, she dismissed the possibility. Alone, even with his blunderbuss he wouldn't be able to win free of the ring of guards surrounding him.

But the shout this time sounded closer. "Lizzie! Lizzie, are you there?" Somehow, it didn't quite sound like Zev... "Lizzie, answer me!" It was very close now, and Lizzie, chest tight in mingled panic and hope, turned around and around, looking for that voice.

Across the courtyard, the crowd shifted, parted, but the man plunging through the breach wasn't Zev.

He was Gordo.

**####  
end of chapter 18**

Chapter Notes:  
So this is the first real evil cliffhanger I've left you with. I couldn't help it. Honest. This really was where the chapter _needed_ to end. Besides, what's a true WIP without at least _one _evil cliffhanger? I promise you'll have the next chapter on time. On my honor. No tomato throwing..._please?_


	19. The Rebel Princess

_Thanks again for all the reviews! **Black Knight 03**, I didn't even think about having them encounter their doubles…that would have been interesting, to say the least! I wonder who they would've been....**Caz**, I'm so glad you like Zev enough to worry about him. :) Don't fret, all shall be revealed! **Lara783**, more Gordo to come and a little bit more of the city, too. :D **MP**, "Zephyr" is Gordo's middle name, but I think its source is actually a Greek deity, one of the minor ones. At any rate, among other definitions, it's a gentle breeze or the West Wind...and one of my favorite words. ;) **Elise Foster**, I remind you (even occasionally) of Ursula LeGuin? All _right_! Thank you! (Um, yes, I have read her Earthsea trilogy...which is currently being made into a miniseries, actually.) **pixievix** is back, pixievix is back! And just in time for more Gordo, too. Hmmm.... **swim6516**, how can I compete with mudfootball, let alone college? I'll take a review whenever you can spare one, luv. Yeah, **mandarino**, that was a mean cliffie. Sorry. No more, I promise. At least, I think I promise. ::evil laugh:: **PaLM**** TRee 101**, I thought maybe the cliffhanger would push people over the edge into fruit-violence, but thank you for the support! :D Thank you, **Therantas**; and, yeah, I adore color words. For me, they establish the feel of a setting almost better than description, so I reach for the more exotic ones when a place feels exotic to me. Don't know if it works for anybody else, though. :)_

**Chapter 19: The Rebel Princess**

She couldn't move.

Were it not that she _knew_ she must still be breathing, she could easily believe herself more stone than the Judith statue beside her.

_Gordo_, she thought, and her quiet-working lungs gave a conspicuous hitch. As though reminded they truly _weren't_ stone, her knees immediately gave way. Only a palm slapped against the statue kept her from sagging to the street.

And then Gordo was there, at her side, eyes deeply blue as they met hers from beneath a shaggy mop of dark curls. She didn't want to look away, but her gaze flickered out of her control, skimming the smooth arch of his eyebrows, tracing the whorl of an ear, the taut, solemn line of his mouth, catching on the wiry breadth of his shoulders, and snarling in the windblown lines of his clothing until her fingertips tingled with the urge to touch him.

And then he touched her, one hand gripping her elbow, its solid warmth lapping up her arm in slow waves to glow, steady, disconcerting, in the center of her chest. It was all she could do not to leap away from him.

It was all she could do not to throw her arms around him.

She blinked, tilted her head, realized he was speaking to her.

"Are you all right, Liz?" she heard over the thunderous pound of her heart. She blinked again, licked her lips, opened her mouth to say—what?—and closed it again, her eyes seeking his in utter confusion. She watched as they darkened into yet a deeper blue and wasn't at all startled to feel his other arm come around her waist, his hand sure, supportive against the small of her back. And then it seemed the most sensible thing to step toward him on her so-shaky and very flesh-and-blood knees, to slide her arms around his neck, to lay her face in the curve of his shoulder as his arms closed around her.

For a long moment they stood like that, joy rising sharp in Lizzie's throat. Surely, she marveled, drawing deep breaths of his scent, undeniable even beneath some foreign spice, surely she had always felt this way around him. As though the world sharpened, brightened. As though she gained depth and dimension and purpose, every part of him anchoring her more deeply into herself. And such a surfeit of emotion—gratitude, elation, peace jumbling with fear and panic and need. How could she not have realized long, long ago that she loved him?

Letting loose a soft, slow sigh, she murmured into the dark pocket of Gordo's shoulder, "What are you doing here?"

He chuffed against her ear. "I heard you scream. Where else _would _I be?"

_Home_, Lizzie thought but shook her head as she pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. "I mean, what are you doing in Aderet?"

"What else?" Gordo chuckled, his thumb sweeping absently along her spine; the delight curling out from the touch nearly made her shiver. "Waiting for you."

"But how did you know I'd be here?" she frowned.

"Arevhat told me. She reappeared a few hours after sunset that same day you both left. Believe me, I was furious you weren't with her, but then she told me to take the carpet and fly here. Gave me some pretty good directions, actually—including where to find the carpet again—and told me you'd join me here in a few days. I wasn't sure where you'd be, precisely, but since I was again knee-deep in a fairy tale, I figured this was the likeliest place."

There were so many questions, Lizzie didn't even know where to start. "But," she finally settled on, "Arevhat said you were gone. I mean, right away. We hadn't gone but a few feet away from you when she said you were gone—"

"I was," Gordo interrupted. "I mean, to you I would have been gone. You and Arevhat disappeared from _my _sight almost immediately. So, if you'd looked back, I don't think I would have been there. But I was still in the same place, standing on the hill where we watched the sun rise."

Oh. The beauty of that morning, the comfort of his presence, the ache of farewell again swept over her, and she shook her head slightly. Yet another moment when she should have realized how very much she loved him. "Even so," she went on, "the mother of the Sun _insisted_ she didn't know where you were. But she must have been the one to tell Arevhat what to say to you. I can't imagine that Arevhat knew the next stop on our quest. Otherwise there wouldn't have been any need to seek the goddess at all." Except, maybe, in order to have her little Gordo revelation. But there was no way she was going to share that reasoning.

"True," Gordo was saying. "Is it possible, though, that by the time the mother of the Sun spoke to you, she may _not _have known where I was?"

It was entirely possible, but not very probable. The goddess's domain was the air. If Gordo was on the carpet, in the air, the mother of the Sun should've known where he was. But, Lizzie considered, if the goddess had told her where he was, Lizzie would've spent these past few days very, very differently....

And she really didn't want to go down that road. Particularly since she had a pretty good feeling that pondering the unfathomable mysteries of the goddess's motives would be futile at best._ Never mind_.

"That must be it," she answered Gordo. Then, with a faint smile, "So what's this about being knee-deep in a fairy tale?"

His answering smile nearly stole her breath. "Ah, yes. Another part of my instructions. I'm staying with the _King_ of Jagur." He dipped his head in the direction of the very female Judith's statue and winked. "I figured since I was with one half of the star-crossed lovers, you'd come into town with the other half. And that half, if running true to fairy tale form, would have to see the statue sometime."

"So you know the fairy tale?" Lizzie asked, fingers tightening in the fabric of his tunic. He nodded. "Do I need to go rescue Zev, then, or is he all right for now?"

Gordo's forehead folded. "Was that why you were screaming? The guards came for Zev?"

She nodded. "I didn't know why they were taking him. All he was doing was kneeling in front of the statue, trying not to cry. He's all right, though? 'Cuz if he's not, I need to send a message to his ship, and we need to figure out how to get him off this island."

"No," Gordo said, still frowning. "He's all right. He's fine." Slowly, his arms withdrew from around her, and Lizzie realized how long they'd been standing there, still in their sort of half-embrace. Despite feeling more than a little foolish—and hoping desperately that she hadn't been _obvious_—she couldn't quite restrain a shiver as his warmth drained away.

Gordo didn't seem to notice. "The _king_," he was saying, "ordered a statue of, er, himself put at the gate to the city, then decreed that anyone found crying at the sight of it should be taken to the palace dungeons. Judith was hoping that the 'anyone' would be Zev someday."

Lizzie grinned. "So, from the dungeons, they'll be reunited."

"Exactly. But with all that joyous reuniting going on, it'll be a lot more difficult to get a moment with Judith—which we definitely need if you're gonna stay with me. So do you think we can exchange our stories on the way to the palace?" He didn't even wait for an answer before clasping her hand and starting down the street. Lizzie, dazed at the swift warmth accompanying his touch, could only tighten her fingers around his and try to listen as Gordo shared the details of his journey.

It sounded fairly uneventful. Arevhat had given him simple directions to get him to Aderet and a lock of her hair to gain him entry to the palace. "Which," he laughed, "Judith greeted with a grimace. Somehow, I feel sure they've met before." Lizzie, remembering Zev's tale of the school for royalty, laughed too. Still, he told her, the hair did its job, and Gordo had spent the last few days keeping the King Judith company, traveling down to the statue during the day and back up to the palace at night.

"I was just leaving, actually, when I heard you calling for help," he explained. "So that's why I wasn't loitering around the guards. But what about you? What's your journey been like?"

So Lizzie launched into an abridged version of the past few days, sans her Love-Gordo epiphany, her agonizing over what to do about it, and her conversation with Zev concerning it. She did tell him, most particularly, about the goddess's quest instructions, though.

"So, we just wait until Zev and Judith are slightly less overcome with gratitude and joy, and ask them this crane-human's whereabouts. Then it's off for the Dragon King and then, finally, home." Lizzie didn't need to see his smile to know it was there.

Which was fortunate, because she really couldn't see much of anything. Dusk had fallen at last, rapidly deepening into night, and the torches marching alongside the street offered only fitful, sputtering light. She wondered how much further they had to walk to reach the palace.

"Ah," came a voice out of the shadows ahead of them, "so you are come at last! We were beginning to wonder if you had decided to spend your night in the city."

"Had you luck today?" Another voice, female, and then Lizzie could distinguish a flash of metal in the torchlight.

"As you see!" Gordo called back, raising the hand that held Lizzie's. "I was slightly delayed, but in the best possible way." There was a burble of excited congratulations, but Lizzie didn't bother to distinguish them. She was too busy looking at the two people stepping out of the shadows. Dark-haired, dressed in black, they would have been invisible against the dark street were it not for the pale oval of their faces, the glittering blade of a long knife at their waists, and, picked out in white thread, the guards' stylized wave on their tunics.

"Lizzie," Gordo's voice drew her back, "this is Rafel and Ara." Gordo's hand indicated first the man, only slightly taller and wider than his companion, then the woman; both wore their long hair up in a tightly-looped topknot. "They're what the natives call Water Guards. They're the ones who've been ferrying me to and from the palace everyday."

"We have heard much of you," Ara said, smiling. "And we are very glad that your friend has found you."

"Indeed," Rafel laughed, "for I am become tired of seeing his face each morning and night." He leaned closer to Lizzie, "There are much fairer faces I would rather see in a day's duty."

Ara plucked at her partner's sleeve, laughter gleaming in her eyes. "And such a pity that the closest you shall ever get to them is in your day's duty." Without waiting for Rafel's sputtering to form into words, she went on, bowing slightly to Lizzie. "Truly, we are honored to meet you at last."

"Thank you," Lizzie bowed back.

"Shall we go to the palace now? It is soon dark, and the water is always more difficult to navigate at night." At Gordo's nod, Ara turned, snagged Rafel, and led the way along the street. After a few steps, Lizzie realized that the Water Guard was heading further into the valley, not up out of it to where the palace perched atop the cliff.

"Where are we going?" Lizzie whispered to Gordo. "Isn't the palace up there?"

Gordo slowed just a little. "Yes," he murmured back, "but there's another entrance down here, under the waterfall. It's just getting to it that's a little tricky. The Water Guards work guarding the river and the harbor—and a few work alongside the city guards defending the palace's main entrance. They're all skilled boaters, but the best of them are sent down here to ferry people to and from the waterfall entrance."

Lizzie nodded, frowned. "It sounds...wet."

Gordo choked on a laugh. "Oh, it is. Believe me, it is."

The truth of which Lizzie quickly discovered. The Water Guards' boat, shallow-drafted and almost too short and narrow to accommodate all four of them, was only a brief walk away, moored in the small lake at the waterfall's base. Lizzie was guided to the only seat in the middle of the craft, where Gordo joined her, and then Ara and Rafel were leaping lightly to their places in the bow and stern and shoving off.

The little boat skirted the lakeshore as much as possible, but that did little to protect its passengers from either the dousing mist or the deafening roar of the falls. Lizzie, not a little disturbed at the bucking of the boat beneath her, found Gordo's hand, grasped it hard, and fixed her eyes on the mighty sheet of night-blackened water pounding from the cliff top. Slowly, inexorably, it grew closer, larger, louder until all she could hear was ceaseless thunder, all she could see water like polished onyx and glittering eddies of spray. Were it not for Gordo's hand, now firmly returning her pressure, and the chill wet penetrating her clothes, she would almost believe herself just another part of the waterfall.

And then, somehow, they had passed behind it, their way lit by faint-glowing orange lanterns spaced along the cliff face. Within moments, the boat bumped against a short stone dock, where more Water Guards waited to help them disembark and then, once the boat was empty, lift the small craft out of the water entirely. The other guards swiftly disappeared back into a shadowy cave, but Ara and Rafel stayed with Lizzie and Gordo, gesturing meaningfully to one another—no doubt a sort of silent speech for use behind the falls—before turning to lead the way again.

Rather than guide them into the cave where the other guards had gone, Ara and Rafel started along a narrow, ill-lit path winding in switchback after switchback up the nearly sheer cliff. There were guards stationed at intervals along the path, practically hidden in the darkness, and Lizzie realized with a start that the waterfall entrance was halfway up the cliff face, not inside the cave. It was rather a brilliant place for an entrance, actually, especially as any enemies wishing to storm the backdoor of the palace would have to come up one at a time, carefully picking their way along the cramped track, as the guards attacked from the switchbacks above.

Still, for a mere guest making her way peaceably, it was a bit of a hike. By the time the Water Guards finally stopped ahead of them, Lizzie's legs ached, her head a little muddled from the path's dizzy back and forth. Through hazy eyes, she watched as Ara and Rafel greeted the guards standing at the heavy stone door with more of their gesture-language. Then, with a hand each to first Gordo's then her shoulder, their guides bid farewell and disappeared back down the cliff.

At Gordo's squeeze of her hand, she turned back to find the ponderous stone door rolling open with surprising speed. Beyond was a bare, torch-lit tunnel, beads of water gleaming on the walls. It looked rather uncomfortably like a tomb but the air was crisp, and when Gordo stepped forward, she allowed him to lead her inside, even managing not to shudder as the door clanked shut behind them.

Almost immediately, there was silence—so sudden, so complete that it was almost as deafening as the waterfall. Indeed, Lizzie grasped at the thread of their breathing just to be certain she _wasn't _deaf.

"Not too awful?" Gordo whispered, turning to face her.

She shook her head, immediately grasping what he meant. "A little harrowing, but I'm glad I did it." She grinned. "Still, I can't quite believe you did that twice a day for the past few days."

He grinned back. "All in a good cause." His hand released hers to pull at a soaked snarl in her hair. "We'd best get you dry, though. You're not in prime form for an audience with the king, but I don't think...eh, _he'll_ mind. Come on." His hand recaptured hers and he started down the tunnel at a swift clip.

Lizzie rapidly lost track of the turns and twists he followed, especially as they ascended staircases into more elegant areas of the palace. The walls were still stone, but now washed in the same bright pastels as the city houses. The floors began to gather vibrantly colored woven rugs, the torches turning into ornately sconced candle lamps. The ceilings rose and large, heavily carved wooden doors emerged in the hallway.

At last, Gordo slowed his pace, walking softly to a narrow door where he paused and looked first up the hall, then down. There was no one in sight, and Gordo eased the door open, a finger to his lips, and ushered Lizzie in, closing the door behind them.

Wherever they were, it was dim, and at first Lizzie couldn't quite see. Then, eyes adjusting, she realized they stood in a small room, furnished with a few padded stools and one large armchair. Another door stood opposite this one, open a crack to allow a long bar of faint orange-tinted light to spill inside.

Gordo slipped around in front of her, leaning close to whisper, "This is one of the king's private chambers. There are several that open off the great hall, where Judith conducts business. She uses them to rest or deliberate a decision or occasionally meet with her people privately. Each one is covered by a wall hanging so we should be able to open the door and slip mostly unnoticed into the hall."

With that, he opened the door on a swath of vibrant orange fabric and led the way, back flat to the wall, out from under it. A stern-faced guard stood watching them emerge, but merely nodded to Gordo and immediately returned his gaze to the great hall. Sighing faintly in relief, Lizzie swiped soggy, mussed strands of hair from her eyes and did the same.

It was a large room, but not quite what Lizzie would expect of a great hall. The ceiling was high, certainly, and the room longer than it was wide, but it wasn't at all the immense echoing chamber she'd envisioned. Which wasn't to say it lacked drama. Not at all. The walls were unpainted, jet-black island stone, as was the highly polished floor, and hanging at intervals around the room were long banners of vivid cloth. There were several in saffron yellow, a handful in crimson, and a few more the same orange as the one they'd entered through.

At the back of the hall stood a pair of very tall, very wide wooden doors, while at the front of the hall three narrow windows slashed the wall. Below them, two shallow steps above the floor, was a dais, a graceful, grandly proportioned chair of some glossy, many-hued wood centered on it. That, Lizzie had no doubt, was the throne.

And in front of the throne, staring regally out at the small crowd in the great hall, stood Judith.

She looked very like the statue, dark hair pulled up in the same tightly looped topknot, a masculine circlet of gold set with glassy black onyx on her brow. She wore tunic and trousers in startling white, a black sash low on her hips effectively hiding her waistline. She didn't have a sword, but considering all the city guards gathered around the edges of the room, Lizzie supposed she didn't need one.

There was almost no sound in the great hall, every pair of eyes fixed forward. As Lizzie crept closer behind Gordo, she realized that while many people watched the King of Jagur, some of them watched the three men kneeling on the ground bracketed by guards.

One of them was Zev.

"Just in time," Gordo breathed almost soundlessly in her ear.

"Who are the other men?" Lizzie whispered back, not quite so silently. A few people around them speared glares at her.

"Right, brief history of Judith's adventures. After stopping at that island with Zev, she was found by a pushy merchant's son who wanted to marry her. He took her home, but she tricked him and his sailors into getting off the ship, which she promptly stole. While sailing back to the island, she was blown off course to another island. The king there fell in love with her, of course, and sent the eleven daughters of his most powerful lords to be her ladies in waiting. The ladies, hearing her story of lost love, agreed to help her escape the king and sailed off with her. Their fathers, finding out their daughters had disappeared, dethroned and banished the king.

"Meanwhile, Judith and her crew were attacked by pirates. Not surprisingly, the pirates were swiftly tricked and disposed of, leaving their treasure to Judith and the ladies, who then disguised themselves as men and did a little bit of pirating themselves. While doing so, they came upon a young king who fell overboard from his ship. Judith tried to save him, but only succeeded in bringing his body back aboard. Still, the king's counselors were so impressed with her bravery that they asked her to be the new king—Jagur's king. You know all about the statue, but the men who recognized it—and had reason to cry—were Zev, of course, the merchant's son, and the dethroned king. And we're here just in time for the best part."

"_This _is the best part?" asked Lizzie, incredulous. Damn, Judith had been busy these past five years. Not that Lizzie was all that surprised, considering the woman was Miranda's alternate. Only Miranda could get into so much trouble and then manage to get right out of it again.... A chuckle escaped before she could clamp it down, and this time several of their neighbors actually hissed at her.

"Sorry," she mouthed, and obediently turned her attention to Judith and company.

The King of Jagur was pacing slowly in front of the kneeling men, her hands on her hips. "I have heard your stories," she announced, "and shall render justice, as is my due." She paused before the third man—the deposed king. "Rise." The guard standing beside the king yanked the man to his feet. "You were banished," Judith declared in tones that reached to the farthest corner of the hall, "because the eleven ladies pledged themselves to me. If they wish, they may go home with you now and return to their families. Your counselors will be happy and in their joy they will reinstate you."

Immediately, a clamor rose in the hall, a gaggle of somberly dressed young ladies on the far side of the crowd clapping their hands and giggling and chorusing their agreement with this solution. The king and the eleven ladies were led away through one of the doors hidden behind an orange hanging. Silence settled again over the room.

The king now stood in front of the merchant's son. "You were banished by your father because you lost your ship and its cargo. Here in Aderet Harbor your ship still awaits you, its hold filled with goods several times more valuable than what you lost. Go." And at a wave of her hand, a guard came to escort the stammering, bowing merchant's son out yet another hidden door.

Now only Zev remained. Without waiting for the guard's assistance, he rose slowly to his feet. A long, long moment he stood there, staring at Judith while Judith stared back. And then, her hands visibly trembling even from where Lizzie stood, the king lifted the crown from her head, handed it absently to the startled guard, and unwound the black cloth securing her severe topknot. Pulling her hair down to frame her face, she paused, drew a deep breath, and launched herself into Zev's arms, mouth locking to his in a kiss so fierce and raw it almost hurt Lizzie to watch.

But watch she did as one kiss became several and the room erupted into chaos. Women screeched and fainted, men paled, livid, or shouted in outrage. Next to her Gordo was laughing and Lizzie realized she was laughing too, so hard her stomach hurt and she could barely stand up. Leaning against Gordo, she managed to gasp in between guffaws, "Trust Miranda to expose herself in the most flamboyant, outrageous way possible."

Gordo wheezed back, "At least she took her hair down!"

Lizzie nodded and looked back to the still-embracing couple. They'd stopped kissing, at least, but they held onto one another so tight it might as well be a kiss. It was nearly impossible to tell where one ended and the other began, and the sight tightened Lizzie's throat. She was so glad they'd found one another again. And to see they still loved one another after all these years.... Lizzie blinked the sheen of tears from her eyes.

Still, if they didn't take control of the situation pretty damn soon, they'd have a murderous mob on their hands. Shoving forward to the front of the crowd, Lizzie cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted, "Zev!" in as crisp and sharp a manner as possible.

He snapped around with gratifying speed, eyes drifting an instant before locking on hers. His mouth widened in a wicked, beaming grin that Lizzie reflexively returned even as she gestured significantly at the shocked, indignant people around her. He nodded, turned to whisper in Judith's ear, and finally, very reluctantly, pulled away to stand behind the King of Jagur.

"Silence!" he roared, voice at full-strength, piercing-hurricane-winds volume. Silence fell. Like a rock.

"People of Aderet," Judith spoke into the stillness, "I apologize for deceiving you as I have. For I am not, as you thought, Jemith the pirate king. I am Judith, daughter of Emperor Neas, crown princess of the great country of Lachi. This man is Zev, son of King Ri, crown prince of Aulis, and my betrothed. We were separated nearly five years ago and have been long in searching for one another. As you understand, I can no longer stand as your king. I shall thus leave you to decide my successor. Again, I am sorry." With a deep bow, Judith stepped back under Zev's arm and the two made their slow way toward the same little room Lizzie and Gordo had used.

Lizzie turned just as Gordo appeared in front of her. "Come on," he murmured, "if we don't catch them now—"

"—we'll never catch them," Lizzie finished, nodding. Linking her fingers with his, she set off after the just-disappearing couple. "You were right about one thing," she said as they reached the hanging. Gordo raised a questioning eyebrow as he lifted the orange cloth. "This was definitely the best part!" Gordo only laughed as the hanging fell, blessedly muffling the fast-growing commotion in the great hall behind them.

**####  
end of chapter 19**

Chapter Notes:  
The version of "The Rebel Princess" I used here can be found in _The Serpent Slayer: and Other Stories of Strong Women_, retold by Katrin Tchana, illustrated by Trina Schart Hyman.


	20. The Kingdom Under the Sea

_You know, **Black Knight 03**, I thought I did have the rest of the story all figured out—at least the bubble universe parts—but I was wrong. :) So I tweaked a little...it's not _The Frog Prince_, but I think it works. Should be in the next chapter, if you want to watch for it. **Elise Foster**, yay! Another hopeless romantic! Think we should start a support group? Last fairy tale, **MP**! Hope you like it! You'll buy my books, **Caz**? You know I'm gonna hold you to that, don't you? :D Another update, **pixievix**, and I promise we're getting closer to Lizzie spilling the beans. **swim6516**, you can say the same thing as many times as you want; I certainly never tire of hearing it. (so glad college is awesome, by the way) ;)_

**Chapter 20: The Kingdom Under the Sea**

When Lizzie and Gordo entered the private chamber, Zev and Judith were thankfully still inside it and, even more thankfully, not kissing again. There were just some things Lizzie didn't want to see her friends doing more than she had to, even if they were the alternate universe versions of those friends.

Instead, highlighted in the orange glow bleeding through the curtain, the couple merely stood very close together, arms around one another, forehead to forehead, whispering.

"That statue is barely a decent likeness, you know," Lizzie heard Zev tease over the dimmed cacophony in the great hall.

Judith smiled, "I believe the artist felt the need to assuage my vanity—and his sensibilities—by giving my features more masculine lines."

"Ah," Zev chuffed a laugh, "that explains it, then. Bloody fool." And he tilted his head in what Lizzie just _knew _would be another kiss. Before she could do more than grimace, though, Gordo cleared his throat. Loudly.

_How_, Lizzie wondered, beaming at him,_ could I have gone seventeen years not knowing this man is the love of my life?_ He'd all but read her mind, and now across from them, Zev and Judith were slowly unfolding. Not much, granted, but more than enough for Lizzie's comfort.

"All's well," Zev announced. His grin was for both of them, but the question in his eyes was meant only for Lizzie. Reading it, she was hard-pressed not to blush bright red.

"S-so I see," she stammered, gesturing aimlessly, "you've found your...person...um, and I've f-found m-mine." Her smile felt decidedly wobbly, and she knew by the twist of the captain's mouth that he'd found her answer in it. No, all was _not _well for her; no, she had _not_ told Gordo what she needed to tell him. Discomfort prickled hot and itchy beneath her skin, and Lizzie was never so grateful for the flood of introductions and explanations that followed, drawing both her mind and Zev's mild, chiding gaze away.

"But you're in dire need of dry clothes," Judith interrupted several minutes later. "And you are certainly tired and hungry. Shall we talk further tomorrow? I'll order a room readied for you, Miss Lizzie—that is, if the servants still take their orders from me."

"Don't worry about it, Judith," Gordo shook his head, "she can share my rooms." Turning to Lizzie, "They're huge, Liz, more than enough room to fit just two of us."

Lizzie nodded. "Sounds good." Particularly since preparing a room of her own might take a while, and Lizzie really wasn't in the mood to stay in her sopping clothes any longer than she had to. Her slippers squelched sullen agreement as she shifted her feet.

"All right. If you're certain?" Lizzie nodded again to Judith's concerned glance. "Then I shall send someone for you in the morning, and we can finish our discussion when you're comfortable again."

"Thank you, Judith," Gordo grinned, stepping forward to take the former King of Jagur's hands in his.

"Nonsense," Judith grinned back. "'Tis the least I can do for the woman who at last managed to deliver my love into my dungeons."

Zev's mouth twisted in wry agreement as he engulfed Lizzie in a hug. "And the least I can do," he whispered in her ear, "is urge you again, my friend, to share your heart."

"I'd prefer dry clothes," Lizzie drawled back, vainly attempting to ignore the lance of anxiety shivering up her spine.

A reluctant chuckle puffed against her temple as he pulled back. Kissing her forehead, Zev drew away to meet her eyes. "Yes, I am sure you would," he murmured, too soft for anyone's ears but her own. "And so I shall defer my tiresome speech until tomorrow, when your desire for dry clothes has been amply satisfied. Good night, Miss Lizzie." This last he said in a normal voice, turning to greet both Judith and Gordo's puzzled looks with easy nonchalance.

Taking her cue—the _last _thing she wanted was either Judith or Gordo asking her what Zev had just said—Lizzie echoed an equally casual good night, thanked the princess, and neatly dragged Gordo out of the room with an honestly urgent plea for some towels.

"My rooms aren't far," he assured her as they walked swiftly down the corridor. "And as soon as we get there, you can dry off and change into some of the clothes Judith loaned me. They're all pretty baggy—seems to be the style here—so they should fit you." Hurrying her up a narrow flight of stairs, "Or you can take a bath, if you wish. There's a dressing room off the bedroom with an actual bathtub and hot, running water. Not quite as good as a flushing toilet, but it's a far sight better than a quick, freezing scrub in a stream." Turning into another hallway, he muttered, "Not that we've even had that, really, on this trip."

Adrift in blissful thoughts of a hot bath, Lizzie didn't realize Gordo had stopped in front of a door until he was ushering her through it. Briefly, she caught shadowy glimpses of the same vivid colors of the great hall, this time against white-washed walls, and then Gordo's hand at her back was propelling her through another door, this one opening onto a far smaller chamber where a copper tub dominated, gleaming in the mellow light of a candle-sconce.

"Bath, right?" he asked, stopping at last. Lizzie blinked a few times, then nodded. His flashed grin hit in her stomach with fluttering joy. "I thought so. Here," he reached over and started the taps. "Go ahead—there's clothes and towels in that," he pointed at a narrow wardrobe on the far wall, "and while you're getting warm and dry, I'll order up some food."

Her tongue had gained enough animation at last for her to ask, "What about you? You're wet too."

"I'll change out in the bedroom. Just need to grab some towels and some clothes..." His palm releasing the tips of her fingers, he did just that. Then, tucking the pile under one arm, he looped the other around her neck and pulled her close in a warm, if lamentably soggy hug. "I'm glad you're here, McGuire," he said, the words rumbling into her suddenly tight chest.

Blinking back tears, she nodded, whispered, "Me too," and allowed him to step back.

"Get warm and dry, Lizzie, but, please, for the sake of my stomach, don't take forever, okay?" This time, his grin coaxed one of hers in return.

"If I have to," she mock-grumbled, shooing him out of the room. The moment the door closed behind him, though, Lizzie sagged against it, all the playfulness in her expression slipping away.

How could she risk this? How could she risk this camaraderie, this easy comfort and sweet concern and blithe silliness, just to tell him the truth?

A stupid question. _Really, McGuire_, Lizzie growled to herself as she stood and began stripping out of her soaking dress. A _moot_ question. She'd begun risking This-with-a-capital-T long before she'd ever considered telling Gordo the Truth-with-a-capital-T. She'd started risking it all when she'd started falling in love with him. Which, considering how she felt now, was probably when she was born.

_Ridiculous! _she shouted at herself, puddling her dress on the stone floor and peeling off her shift and then her slippers. Zev was right. She did need to tell Gordo the truth. And she would. But right now, Lizzie twisted the water off, right now she would take a bath, get warm and then dry, and she would not think about all the horrible things that could happen.

She winced, not entirely from the near-scalding temperature of the water. _Right.__ I am _not _going to think about all the Horrible Things That Might Happen._

Plainly, that tack was working already.

Frowning, Lizzie took a breath and immersed herself under the bath water. Eyes closed, the world slipped away, only the water remaining, dim and echoing in her ears, hot and soothing on her chill skin. And when at last lack of air forced her to surface, she left her worries floating in the tub, forgotten and drowning for the next little while at least.

Some unknowable time later, a knock beat through the door, Gordo's voice calling that their dinner had arrived and would she _please _remember his poor stomach? Laughing in reply, Lizzie dragged herself out of the still-hot bath, dried off quickly, and swathed herself in a rather appalling combination of pomegranate and chartreuse before pulling her hair back in a long braid. Without a fastener to hold it in place, it wasn't likely to stay there for long, but she was damn sure going to enjoy having her hair out of her face while it lasted.

Finally, wet clothes held awkwardly in front of her, she emerged into the bedroom. As Gordo had said, it was large. Not nearly so large and tall as the great hall, certainly, but large enough that the two islands of light on each side of the room faded to grey shadow before they met, neither one more than brushing the dark plane of the ceiling above. For all its dim size, though, the room didn't feel gloomy or oppressive. In the brief pools of light, hot, cozy color flared from layers of carpets, from a low, absurdly large bed, from piles and piles of plump, vivid pillows. For such a large room, the effect was almost intimate.

"Hey, Liz, come on over," Gordo spoke from where he knelt, silhouetted against the fire behind him as he arranged several dishes on a low table. "If you want, you can put your stuff next to mine to dry," he gestured at the area in front of the fire, uncarpeted, she could see, by anything save his rumpled clothing. "We can shift them to the table once we've eaten, but as you probably noticed, there's not really much in the way of actual furniture here." And indeed, no blocky shapes lurked anywhere in the vague contours of the room. What furniture there was stood in the light. Bemused, Lizzie shrugged and started toward the fire, the piled rugs soft and springy beneath her bare feet.

"Hungry?" he asked as she spread her clothes on the stone floor beside his.

"Oh, yeah," she said, inhaling deep of piquant aromas mingled with sweet wood smoke.

Gordo beckoned her to a seat amid several pillows. "It's a little spicy," he warned, "but I think you'll like it." Which, dipping into the heaped plate before her, she decided was definitely an understatement. Everything was delicious—no bread, no cheese, but more fish delicately flavored, a warm, savory soup, several types of tart fruit, and even a wedge of dark, sweetly bitter chocolate to end the meal.

After the last of the chocolate had melted on her tongue, Lizzie flopped back on her stack of pillows and sighed. "As much as I miss home," she mused, eyes closed, "I think I could actually enjoy staying here a while as long as I got to eat like _this _all the time."

Gordo laughed. "Unfortunately, after breakfast tomorrow, we'll probably be back to our usual fare."

"No-oo," Lizzie grumped, kicking her feet lightly against the carpet.

"Ye-es," Gordo countered, a smile plain in his mimicked tone. "But with any luck, after breakfast tomorrow we'll be only a few steps away from getting home. Which means we only have a few more days to suffer through bread and cheese."

Lifting her head, Lizzie met his eyes. "Assuming we've learned all we're supposed to. Remember? The Black Snake said we have to learn stuff before we can go home. I just hope by the time we find the Dragon King and he can get us home, that we're actually allowed to leave." Lizzie wasn't even sure _she'd_ learned all the stuff she needed to—the mother of the Sun had given her part of the puzzle, but she'd told Lizzie the rest was hers to uncover. As for Gordo, who knew? Pursing her lips, she sat up further and said, "Have you learned anything?"

Gordo blinked, plainly surprised by the question. Then his face folded into his usual pensive, thinking-through-problems expression. After several silent moments, he shook his head. "Nothing big. I mean, I learned about plants from you and Thursday and how to fly the carpet and that I have a rather disturbing ability to remember fairy tales, but I sorta doubt any of that stuff is what I'm supposed to be learning." A pause, then, "What about you?"

Crap. Should've known that was coming. And a more perfect opportunity to tell him precisely what she'd learned wasn't likely to come again. _Oh, yeah, totally, Gordo, _she thought to herself, _Y'know__ when I was hanging with the mother of the Sun? Yeah, totally found out I'm tip over tail in love with you, man. And, then, like, Zev, he totally said I had to tell you. So, hey, babe, I'm in love with you! Kiss? _She shuddered, opened her mouth, stammered, "O-oh, me too. Just that stuff. Plants from Thursday, the history of the Nai Islands from Aloway, just stuff."

Gordo nodded, satisfied, but throughout the evening as they chatted about the history of the Nai Islands, as they pondered the bubble universe's relation to their universe, as they shared funny, shocking, solemn moments from their days apart, one word rang again and again in her mind.

_Coward._

The next morning, Lizzie awoke to bright sunlight. Squinting, grumbling, she pulled the covers up over her head, serving only to tint the still-brilliant light an interesting shade of peach. With a resigned sigh, she slitted her eyes open and emerged from the makeshift, and wholly ineffective, tent of pumpkin-orange sheets. Funny the things you fail to notice in a dim room at night. Like the exact, virulent shade of the bedclothes. Or the existence of three narrow windows on the wall facing east.

The whole bloody room was designed to wake a person up. With a vengeance.

Which meant, of course, that Gordo was still sleeping.

He lay comfortably sprawled on the other side of the bed—pretty much the exact spot he'd fallen asleep in last night. Lizzie, on the other hand, had somehow relocated to the center of the mattress in the course of the night. It was only due to the gigantic sprawl of the thing that she wasn't piled on top of him—again. But then, that was probably the only reason Gordo had agreed to share the bed, anyway. What had he said at Evarado and Nadie's place? Something about the next sleepover involving separate beds?

If only he didn't mind cuddling with her, Lizzie thought, the problem would be solved.

But she wasn't going to think about that. _Especially when you blew your chance to find out about the cuddling stuff last night, coward._

Not gonna think about that either.

Shaking her head, Lizzie pushed the sheets away completely and half-crawled, half-rolled to her side of the bed. She hadn't the vaguest notion what time it was, nor when Judith might summon them, but she might as well see if she could change back into her own clothes. They ought to be dry by now.

For the most part, she found, fingering the fabric, they were—a little damp, perhaps, but not uncomfortably so. Bundling them up, she headed to the dressing room. By the time she'd changed, finger-combed the last plaits out of her braid, and stepped back into the bedroom, Gordo was also changed, just pulling his tunic over his head.

"Hey, Lizzie," he said. "I just got word from Judith. We're to go to her rooms for breakfast. You all ready?"

She blinked. "Good morning."

He paused in the middle of smoothing the shirt beneath his tunic. "What? Oh, yeah, good morning."

Clearly, the glaring bed sheets and sadistic sunshine had worked much more effectively on Gordo than her. "How is it," she groused, "that you're such a morning person here, when at home it takes a cattle prod to get you up and moving?"

He tipped his head to one side, considering, as his hands resumed straightening shirt and tunic. "I dunno," he said at last. "Maybe our mission works some kind of voodoo?"

Lizzie flopped next to him on the bed, huffed a repressive, "Apparently, I'm immune to voodoo."

But Gordo, irrepressible, simply dropped to his knees, spread his arms wide, and in his best Frank Sinatra impression, half-sang, "'Let me live 'neath your spell—do do that voodoo that you do so well.'"

Despite herself, Lizzie laughed. "Not half-bad, baby," she countered in her own Rat Pack accent.

Gordo rose, buffing his nails on his chest, "Eh, well I _am _a crooner, sweetheart." Grinning, he pulled her to her feet. "Now, c'mon, if my singing won't wake you up, breakfast will. Did I tell you how awesome breakfast is here? Maybe that's why I'm a morning person." And remembering last night's dinner as they headed toward Judith's rooms, Lizzie had to admit the explanation had merit.

"At last!" Zev's exclamation as he flung open Judith's door drew Lizzie's attention away from food. But only momentarily. From the room behind him wafted several mouth-watering aromas. "Had you been even a few steps later, I should have dishonored myself entirely by eating before you arrived—dreadfully ill-mannered, that. But come in!" And he ushered them into a room slightly larger but not far different from Gordo's. Although, Lizzie noted as Zev closed the door behind them, the King of Jagur seemed to rate a little more furniture. To the left of the door stood an elegant desk and chair, and near the narrow windows on the far wall clustered a few wide, backless, pillow-bedecked sofas. But Judith sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the fireplace, the large, low table before her laden with several dishes.

Furniture or no, _that _was where Lizzie wanted to be.

Apparently, everyone else agreed and for several minutes there was nothing but the click and ching of china and cutlery as the four of them helped themselves to a very generous breakfast. Then, cups filled with rich, cinnamon-spiked hot chocolate, plates piled with spicy sausage and vegetable omelets, crepes with whipped cream and sweet-bland bananas, and more of the tart fruit from the night before, Judith spoke.

"Zev told me you've been sent here by the mother of the Sun, to ask the King of Jagur something?" Lizzie, chewing, nodded. "And since I'm the closest to the king you'll find, what do you have to ask?"

Swallowing, Lizzie said, "I need to find a crane who used to be a man. The mother of the Sun said the King of Jagur—you, I guess—would know where to find him."

"Ah," Judith nodded. "Yes. I believe I know what crane you mean. There's a story told here on Jagur about a man who became a crane, although I confess I thought it simply a story." Laying down her fork, "The crane used to be a fisherman on the south coast of the island, they say, until one day he helped a turtle trapped helpless on its back on the beach, slowly dying in the sun. The next morning as he fished, he heard a voice calling his name—the turtle, who explained she was the daughter of the Dragon King, come to take him to her father, who wished to thank the fisherman for saving her. So the fisherman climbed on the turtle's back and journeyed to the Dragon King's palace under the sea. There, the turtle became a beautiful princess, and seeing her, the fisherman immediately fell in love.

"As thanks for saving his daughter's life, the Dragon King permitted the fisherman to marry the princess, and they lived under the water in the Dragon King's kingdom for a few joyous years. Eventually, though, the fisherman became curious about his family and his village. So he begged to be allowed to visit them. The princess didn't want him to go, but at last she gave in, gifting him with a beautiful three-tiered wooden box. Before he left, she told him to keep the box with him always but never, never to open it."

Lizzie shared a dubious glance with Gordo. _That _never worked. "The fisherman promised," Judith continued, "but when he arrived at his village, nothing was familiar. The trees were larger, the houses he knew changed, and when he looked for his family the old man living in his former home said the fisherman's parents had died three hundred years before. But the fisherman had been certain he'd only been living with the Dragon King for three years. Confused, he unthinkingly opened the top drawer of the wooden box. Smoke swirled around him and changed him into an old man. He opened the second drawer, which contained a mirror that showed him his changed self. Finally, he opened the third drawer. A crane's feather floated out, and once it settled atop his head, he changed into a crane.

"And so, the story goes, he has ever been, trapped by his curiosity in the form of a crane, never permitted to return to the Dragon King's kingdom, separate always from the love he so foolishly discarded. Those I've heard tell the story say the crane still lives near his old village, flying ceaselessly over the water, looking and looking for his lost love."

Lizzie, finished eating at last, nodded. "That sounds about right. The mother of the Sun said the crane would tell us how to find the Dragon King. And if this fisherman-crane doesn't know exactly where the Dragon King lives, he can probably at least find someone who does."

Zev leaned across the table. "Then we will tell you how to find the crane, and you can be swiftly on your way. Much as I—we—would enjoy your company a few more days, Aderet will certainly wish Judith to leave soon, and where she and I will sail is in the opposite direction of where you must go." Meeting Lizzie's eyes with a wink, "Shame, really, since I had truly hoped to get to know your...friend...better."

Suddenly quite willing to leave Aderet as quick as may be, Lizzie crossed her arms over her chest and drawled, "Yeah, back at ya, cap'n." For a long moment, Zev merely smirked at her. Then, as Judith asked Gordo the whereabouts of the flying carpet, the captain surged to his feet, captured Lizzie's hand, and dragged her to the other side of the room.

"That tiresome lecture I promised," he explained, releasing his grip.

Lizzie shook her head. "You don't need to lecture me, Zev—"

One eyebrow rose. "You told him then?" he interrupted.

"No," she admitted reluctantly. "But I know I need to. You don't have to convince me."

"Of course I don't," he scoffed lightly, "I already did that. But I do think I need to...well, perhaps encourage you." One hand came up to cup her shoulder as he leaned closer. "My dear, don't think about it. Don't think of the words you'll use and in which order they'll go or what you'll say when he responds. Just tell him." Smiling, though his eyes were still earnest, "Or kiss him. An you do, I truly believe you shall gain your heart's desire."

Lizzie bit her lip. "Well, of course _you _belie—"

"Yes, I do," he insisted. "Please, Miss Lizzie, remember I have two eyes of my own. And, from what they've seen, I think your story will end well—as mine has, at last."

Lizzie still wasn't precisely reassured—or encouraged—but before she could say so, Judith was calling them back. "I've given Gordo directions to the crane," she said. "All that remains now is to bid you farewell and good fortune." Turning to Lizzie, Judith swept her into a light, very un-Miranda-like hug. "Thank you," the princess whispered, "for bringing him back to me." And then she was pulling away, leaving Lizzie only a glimpse of teary eyes before Zev swept in to take his beloved's place.

"Yes," he said, "thank you very much for that. And remember, my friend," he brushed a kiss to her forehead, breathed, "courage."

Lizzie wanted to roll her eyes, growl frustration, frown, but instead she met his concerned, intent gaze, held it a long moment, nodded. "Courage," she murmured back to him. "Right." Nodding again, decisively, she withdrew from his embrace, said and accepted more farewells and good-fortunes, and at last, Gordo beside her, left the prince and princess behind.

_One step closer to home_, she thought. Then, much softer, a reminder, _Courage._

**####  
end of chapter 20**

Chapter Notes:  
"You Do Something to Me" is by Cole Porter. There are _several _covers of the song floating around, including one by Frank Sinatra. The version of "The Kingdom Under the Sea" that I used here came from _Magical Tales From Many Lands, _retold by Margaret Mayo, illustrated by Jane Ray.


	21. Between Stars

_Sorry this is late, everyone. I had all but the last page written by the beginning of last week, when RL got in the way. To compensate, though, this chapter's a little longer than the average...and I think you'll like that the last page got written. ;)_

**_Black Knight 03_**_, as I said, it's not _The Frog Prince_ and I couldn't make the bubble universe connection really obvious, but the inspiration was all you! So I hope it's okay!? **Jay** (I get it! :D), of _course _you can join the Hopeless Romantics Support Group! Especially as I have been so fortunate as to join—in a manner of speaking—your c2. ::preening and blowing movie-star kisses:: Thank you, dahling! **MP**, I hope you'll like what's in store, too...and as for _The Elegant Universe_, I've heard of it, but I haven't seen it...might be able to find some info online, though. :) I know, **Lara783**, you'd think she'd pick up on all those hints Zev's throwing at her, but she's a little preoccupied, I think. But _this_ chapter...well, you'll see.... ;) Thank you so much, **PaLM TRee 101**, and don't worry about the review—I love 'em when I get 'em! Is your writer's block gone? Yeesh. I hate that! Three points, hmm, **Mysteriously Unique**? Let's see: 1) thank you! 2) read on, darling! 3) gonna have to work on this, I think...I'll see what I can do! How's that? **swim6516**, I think this chapter'll make you happy...or half-happy, at least. Maybe that'll offset the icky cafeteria food? **Elise Foster**, procrastinate away! That's (partially) what I'm here for! ;D And I'm so glad you like the L and Z friendship...I became rather fond of Zev, myself, and I think that made the friendship go a way I didn't at all expect. Thank you, **bojanglesbiscuit**, and I am back! (By the way, do you know the song "Mr. Bojangles" by Nitty Gritty Dirt Band? Probably just making a fool of myself, but I had to ask...)_

**Chapter 21: Between Stars**

"So, who do you think this crane-fisherman guy's gonna be?"

Lizzie, watching the island greenery fly away beneath the carpet, jerked her head up at Gordo's sudden question—the first thing either of them had said since leaving Zev and Judith in the palace. "What?" she asked, then clearing the rust from her voice, "What do you mean?"

"Well, so far every...er, being...that's helped us on this journey has worn the shape, in some way, of one of our friends." He laughed a little. "Or our enemies. So, I'm trying to figure out who this crane guy's gonna be. Any ideas?"

"Hmm." Eyes scanning the distant blue horizon, Lizzie considered the question. "We've pretty much gone through all our good friends—and enemies—already. Maybe someone in our families? I mean, the mother of the Sun was my mom, so...." She shrugged.

"True." He dipped his head in a slight nod. "And going by that, the Dragon King is probably your dad, but that doesn't tell us who the crane is. Although, if the Dragon King _is_ your dad, it's possible his daughter, the turtle, might be you."

"Me?" Lizzie laughed. "Gordo, I'm already here."

"So what? Maybe you and I both have a double here just like our friends."

"Which would just be _weird_." Imagining all too easily having a conversation with an utterly foreign version of herself, Lizzie grimaced, reiterated, "_Weird_."

"Still, it could happen. And the family relationship in the bubble universe means it makes sense." He paused a moment, then said, "So, if you're the turtle, who's the crane?"

She really didn't like where this hypothetical situation was going. "If I'm the turtle—_if_, Gordo—then I guess the crane would have to be, I don't know, the Love of my Life or something." _You_, echoed in her head. Shaking the voice away, she continued, "But if that's true, Gordo, I really, really hope that the bubble universe _isn't _an indicator of what our futures are going to be like. Imagine, the Love of my Life leaving me forever for the sake of a stupid box." No, she definitely didn't like where this was going.

"Well, it doesn't have to be a box, Liz. I mean, this is a fairy tale. The box could be a metaphor for something else. Something the, uh, the guy, um, in your life is really curious about, something he wants to experience. Like, uh, I don't know, a career...or world travel—"

"Or another woman?" Lizzie interjected, swallowing at the sick, metallic taste flooding her tongue. The idea of Gordo, director extraordinaire, walking the red carpet with some beautiful starlet...she shuddered. "You're not helping, you know."

"Not another woman, Lizzie. I don't think he'd be after another woman." His voice was distant, pensive—as though the question was purely academic. Funny, considering that the night before when they'd discussed how the bubble universe related to their own reality, Gordo'd been convinced there was a parallel. He ought to know it was her potential life he was so blithely dissecting. "I think the fairy tale would be more explicit if the box truly represented another woman."

Wonderful. "So, instead, the Love of my Life will leave me for his _career_. That's _so _much better, Gordo. Thanks."

The sarcasm, at least, seemed to get through to him. His back straightened and he turned his head a little as though to find her eyes. "Liz," he said, voice close, earnest, "I don't think it's true. I'm just, you know, thinking about the possibility of, well, you being the turtle, and m-the Love of your Life being the crane. It's stupid. The Love of your Life would never leave you. He'd have to be the dumbest man on earth. And he's not."

Lizzie blinked. "He's not? Why, you have someone in mind for the position?" Oh, she really, _really_ wanted to think that he did. That the man was him.

But Gordo was shaking his head. "No, of course not." But there was something in his tone...if only she could see his face. "It's just, you know, you won't fall in love with someone like that. Someone like...someone stupid. Uh. A-all junior high crushes on Ethan Craft aside, of course."

"Of course," she echoed. Was he babbling? Impossible. Gordo babbled about as often as he failed a test. That is, never.

If not babbling, though, he was certainly doing a fine imitation of it. "But, then, no man would be stupid enough to leave you. I mean...I mean, I'm just your, you know, your best friend and I've never left you alone for...um, ever, actually. Except the occasional family vacation, that is. And, well, the media workshop this summer. Which is kind of career-like—" And his voice stopped. Just ended, which was also very unlike Gordo, not that Lizzie was paying very close attention anymore.

Hmph. She had just started to like that conversation—babbling included—and then he had to remind her of that stupid, stupid workshop. Which was, as he'd said, career-like. Which he was, as he'd said, going to leave her for. Temporarily, granted, but still...what if it was really the beginning of a pattern? What if she did declare her love and he declared it back and they got together only for him to end up spending most of his time, all of his life and his passion in his work?

This whole fairy tale bubble universe predicting their reality thing _sucked_.

And so did wondering all the damned time about all the things that could go wrong.

There were no guarantees. About anything. About whether Gordo loved her. Or if he did, that they'd be happy. Or if they were happy, it wouldn't all end someday in some unknowable, horrific way.

So, why was she worrying again? Why did she care? She might as well take the chance and tell him the truth. Zev was correct about that. If nothing else went right, Gordo at least deserved to know the truth about her feelings for him.

And he would. Because she would tell him. Soon.

After they found this crane-fisherman person.

Lizzie spotted him first, on a solitary rock not far from the shore. He was standing so still that, were it not for the snow brilliance of his body and a cap of crimson marking his head, he would have been invisible.

To Gordo, the crane apparently _was _invisible. He made no move to turn the carpet toward the rock, and Lizzie had to tug on his sleeve several times to gain his attention.

"What?" he asked, sounding dazed, sleepy. Lizzie merely pointed to the crane. "Oh!" Much more awake now, "Thanks!" Immediately the carpet swooped down and around, slowing until by the time they reached the rock, they were barely moving. Gordo settled the carpet to earth and for a long moment, they merely sat there, looking up long, skinny legs, past the sinuous curve of black-feathered neck, beyond the sharp, narrow spike of the crane's bill to meet his eyes, dark and deep.

"Hi," Gordo breathed in front of her, easing to his feet. "I hope you're the crane we've been looking for. The mother of the Sun said you would help us find the Dragon King. Do you know where he is?"

The crane didn't answer, only looked and looked at Gordo. And just when Lizzie was readying herself to stand and try her own hand at communicating, the bird turned and, with a beat of powerful, black-edged wings, launched himself into the air and flew away.

"Well," Gordo said, turning around. "Wrong bird?"

Lizzie grinned. "Or maybe he thought you were rude. Maybe he's used to people who bring him fish or seaweed before asking him important questions."

He grinned back. "Or maybe I just don't speak the language."

"Either way," she shrugged, "what do you want to do? Stay? Go?"

Gordo frowned. "Do you see any other cranes around? This is supposed to be the place." He started in a small circle, scanning the land and water around them. "I say we wait a—Lizzie." His beckoning hand brought her to her feet where, over his shoulder, she saw the crane flying back.

"That was fast," she said. "Assuming that crane is _our _crane, anyway. It is, right?"

Gordo nodded. "Look below him, in the water." Her eyes shifted down, and at first she couldn't make out anything beyond the waves undulating in lazy swells. Then, something distinctly green rose out of the water, streaming ripples behind it.

"The turtle," she whispered. Gordo only nodded again, and in silence they watched as crane and turtle drew nearer. The turtle arrived first, swimming right up to the rock where it raised its head, watched them both for a long moment through soft, limpid eyes, then spun to face the open sea again.

"I guess they're not gonna talk to us," Lizzie murmured.

"Maybe they can't," came Gordo's quiet answer. "Which doesn't exactly help us know what we're supposed to do."

True. Yet when the crane made a spectacular, windy landing, Lizzie stepped from behind Gordo and, bottom lip caught between her teeth, dipped a brief bow. "Thank you, sir," she said, trying to forget it was a very large bird with whom she was attempting to speak. "Is the turtle—" she gestured vaguely at the water behind them, "—supposed to take us to the Dragon King?"

The crane, of course, didn't answer. Cocking his head to one side, he merely watched her for a minute. Then, just as she was starting to get used to that extremely disquieting stare, the sharp-pointed beak lunged toward them, sending Lizzie, then Gordo, scrambling back to the edge of the rock. Behind them, serenely bobbing atop the waves, the turtle yet waited.

"I think that's our cue," Gordo said, hand finding hers. Lizzie grabbed it tight, nodded, and with a dip of her head to the crane, stepped without protest from the rock to the turtle's back. Gordo followed almost before her second foot found balance, and then they were kneeling and finding cold, salty grips on the edge of the wide, hard shell.

"How're we going to breathe underwater?" Lizzie asked.

Gordo shrugged. "I have no idea. But this is a fairy tale, so I figure it has to work somehow." Which, really, wasn't altogether reassuring. But she wasn't given the chance to voice that opinion, as the turtle jolted into movement. Fingers curling tighter, Lizzie resolutely turned her eyes from the too-close lapping waves. Instead, she fixed her attention entirely on Gordo, who—despite all obvious efforts to the contrary—looked just as grim as she felt.

He did serve as a very effective distraction, though, and it was some time before Lizzie realized that the scenery beyond him was blurred. Risking a glance around, she couldn't even make out sky from sea from land. They were moving very, very fast.

She'd no more returned her gaze to Gordo when, with a slight upward heave, the turtle plunged straight down. It had to be water they swam through, but Lizzie felt nothing, saw nothing but streaming cords of bubbles overlaying the whirling blur around them. And she had absolutely no trouble breathing.

For an indeterminable period, this continued. Nothing but silence and bubbles, the turtle and Gordo frozen with her in this timeless, unknown place. Lizzie wondered if maybe it was somehow related to the way the mother of the Sun had transported her to Eliston. It wasn't really similar, but there was something oddly familiar about it.

Before Lizzie could puzzle that out, between one moment and the next, it stopped. Everything stopped.

And when everything started again, Lizzie lay staring up and up into the shadowy arches of a ceiling. Ripples of light washed in watery, bluish bands there, banishing the dimness just long enough for her to make out elaborate carvings and vivid frescoes.

_The palace of the Dragon King, I presume._

Carefully, she got to her feet, noting that the floor beneath her rippled smoothly like the inside of an oyster shell. As did the walls, glowing the same pearlescent grey as the floor under ribbons of reflected light. Somewhere, water sloshed and murmured, but although Lizzie was fairly certain its source was in the room, she couldn't see it. Hemming her in on all but one side stood panes of opaque, greenish glass—round, oval, square, triangular, even octagonal, they were all set in ornate gold frames studded with pearls and coral, onyx, malachite, and opal.

_The palace of the Dragon King comes equipped with a Fun House_, she thought. _Wonderful._

And how on earth was she supposed to find Gordo in all this?

Assuming he was still with her.

That thought prompted her to call out. "Gordo?" she yelled, voice echoing. "Gordo, you here?"

From somewhere—not too far, she didn't think—a low groan echoed back. Then, "Lizzie?"

"Gordo!" It was almost a sigh. "Thank goodness you're still here."

Another moan. "Where's here?" he rasped.

"The Dragon King's palace." She tried going up on tiptoe to look over the top of the glass panels, but couldn't see anything but more and more gold, jewel-encrusted frames. "I think, anyway."

"Makes sense." His voice sounded a little louder. Maybe he was standing now? "But where are you?"

The laugh startled her. "I don't know. Where are _you_?"

"Um...." Scuffling, scritching rolled against the walls. "Wait," he called at last. "Don't move, I think I see you!"

But when Lizzie spun to the only opening in the panels surrounding her, she couldn't see anything but more green glass. "How can you see me when I don't see you?" she asked. Raising her voice, "Gordo, I don't think it's me you see."

"Of course it's you!" he yelled back, but his voice was fading. "I know you when I see you, Lizzie."

"Then how is it you sound farther away? I don't know what you're seeing, but it's definitely not me." A loud splash covered any reply he might have made, and Lizzie watched the blue lights on the walls shatter and flicker. _Please don't let that be—_ "Gordo?" she shouted, the echoes of her voice lapping urgently over themselves until it seemed a hundred Lizzies said his name.

"I'm here, Liz."

_Oh, thank you._ She sagged with relief. Then, smiling a little, "Where's here, again?"

"I'm by a pool of sorts. As far as I can tell, it's more or less in the center of the room."

Good. "I can find you, then." Winding toward him between glass panels, she said, "Just don't follow any other people you think are me, okay?"

"Promise," came his laughing response. "But I could swear I saw you." And maybe he had. _If_ the turtle who'd brought them here were the Dragon King's daughter. And _if_ that daughter really were Lizzie's double.... She really didn't want to think about that.

Shaking her head, she rounded one last turn into a small clearing. Gordo stood next to an almost perfectly circular pool, light from somewhere inside it rendering the water a glowing, bright blue. "Do you see me now?" she asked, grinning as his gaze jumped to hers.

"Audio and visual seem to be in synch," he grinned back. "So, my guess is that, yes, I do see you now. Just to be sure, though...." He strolled closer and, without warning, reached out and pinched her forearm.

"Yowch!" she yelped, slapping his hand away.

"Yup," he nodded, unrepentant. "It's definitely you this time."

"I'm so glad to hear it. I wasn't sure, you—" And the rest of the sentence, along with both sarcasm and deadly glare, died beneath the sudden burbling churn of water in the pool. Immediately, Lizzie turned to watch as bubbles frothed to the surface of the water, thickening and thickening until it was impossible to see anything but foam. "What—?" she whispered.

A squeeze of Gordo's hand on her arm, no longer even the slightest bit sore, silenced her. "Just watch," he breathed in her ear.

But watching was almost impossible. As the water bubbled and churned, the light below it grew brighter and brighter until Lizzie had to closer her eyes. And then it grew brighter still, until even with her head buried in Gordo's shoulder, it seemed to reach inside her skull.

Just when she thought she couldn't bear any more, the light died, the pool fell silent. Slowly, uncertain, she opened her eyes. Then, finding the room softly lit and quiet as before, she carefully peeled away from Gordo, releasing her fist from his tunic, drawing back inch by inch as he loosened his own fierce grip on her.

"Okay?" he whispered, so close his breath tickled her chin.

She nodded, meeting his eyes—only a glitter amid shadows—before murmuring back, "You?" His own nod skimmed his nose along hers, the cool, intimate contact sparking fluttery weakness into her stomach.

_She could kiss him. Now. And he'd know._

"Not yet." The voice stopped her before she even started, and instead of moving closer, she all but jumped away from Gordo. For a moment, she couldn't even figure out where the voice came from, but then she saw the man standing in front of the pool.

A dead ringer for her dad, goofy grin and all.

"Except I've got nicer togs," the man asserted, grinning—goofily—as he fingered the loose tunic and trousers he wore. She couldn't be completely sure in this light, but they looked dark blue.

"See, now you're going to have to talk," said the man—he must be the Dragon King—shaking his head. "For a moment there, you were both thinking the same thing, so it was easy to respond, but now—" he shrugged. "It's not that I can't listen to you both, but I've tried that before, and you people always get really confused. So it's easier if you just say what you want to say and then things are clear." He frowned. "Well, most of the time they are, anyway." A silent moment, then the Dragon King waved a hand, as though shooing the thought away. "But I'm being very rude, am I not? I'm the Dragon King, god of the nine seas, and you've been looking for me for a very long time, I believe."

Lizzie didn't even know what to say. Fortunately, Gordo stepped in with a simple affirmative.

"Yes," the god continued. "Of course you have. You've come to find your way home. Which is kind of absurd, really, since you've already found your way home. You just don't know it yet. I mean, you can't leave without the keys to the door, and it's finding those that's the hardest part. And you've already done that. I just show you the door. Simple, really. Not much work for me at all, which is fortunate since I'm busy enough as it is. But, anyway, you have your keys, I have your door—I have lots of doors, truth be known—" he gestured significantly at all the glass panels around them, "and the Doorkeeper is the one who does all the real work. But don't worry about that. He never fails. It's the people who fail, sometimes. But, no, didn't mean to scare you. You won't fail. You just have to find the right door. Simplest thing in the world."

Simple or not, Lizzie was having a bit of a hard time following him. He was like...well, like water, the words constantly running, ideas and thoughts eddying beneath one another, pushing to the surface then dipping back down again. And yet, for all that, he was kind of restful. Not clear, not understandable, but restful.

"But first," he was saying, "I have to open the windows." Windows? Lizzie glanced around the cavernous room; there wasn't one window to be found. Funny, though, somehow the light was changing, glowing greener, then gold, until it was almost like being outside again.

"Lizzie," Gordo's soft voice, still not far from her ear, drew her back, and she unsuccessfully tried to stifle a gasp. Everywhere around them, the panels were changing, the cloudy green glass clearing and brightening to silver until each one was a mirror, reflecting slivers and shards of her and Gordo.

Only, they weren't the fairy tale Lizzie and Gordo in the mirrors. Sometimes, they weren't even recognizable as their own reality's Lizzie and Gordo.

"Choose." The Dragon King's voice was deep and solemn, but Lizzie barely heard it. _Who were these people?_

Turning to the mirror behind her, she found a Lizzie wearing a spiked collar glaring at a suited Gordo, who glared right back. And in the mirror beside that one, the spiked-Lizzie stood alone. And in the mirror beside that one, Gordo wore spikes too. And beyond that one...was her hair purple?

She looked away to find Gordo examining the mirrors just as intently. "There must be hundreds of possibilities," she said.

He tore his eyes away from a mirror filled with a blond-haired, brown-eyed man and a black-haired, blue-eyed woman, and nodded. "But I think there may be a kind of pattern. So we shouldn't have to search them all to find the one that's ours." He pointed to the spike and suit series she'd noticed. "See? They're kind of a variation on a theme. So if we find our theme, we should be able to find our reality."

That made sense. "Do you want to take one side and I'll take the other?"

"No!" His eyes widened in alarm. "If we split up, I might never find you again amid all these," he waved his hand, "other yous. It'll take longer, but I think it's better we just stay together."

She nodded. "Sounds fine to me. Which side?"

"My guess?" He pointed away from the mixed-gender Lizzie and Gordo. "That way."

And into the Fun House they went.

It was amazing, remarkable, undeniably weird, and occasionally even horrifying. They saw pregnant Lizzies, Lizzies with brown hair, famous pop-star Lizzies, Lizzies sad, Lizzies who ignored Gordo, Lizzies wearing snow parkas, druggie Lizzies, depressed Lizzies. They saw director Gordos, college student Gordos, Gordos dating Kate, Gordos with straight hair, Gordos alone building model airplanes, drunken Gordos, Gordos wearing glasses, angry Gordos. And the strangeness seemed to go on and on and on.

Then finally they found mirrors that reflected a familiar Lizzie and Gordo. They weren't perfect—hair too long, hair too short, wrong eye color, wrong height—and then, suddenly, they were. Perfect.

"I forgot about that," Lizzie said, looking at the just-right Lizzie in a hexagonal mirror, bruise darkening along her left cheekbone.

"I didn't," Gordo replied, hand rising to cup her jaw, his thumb sweeping the unblemished skin beneath her eye. "But I guess what our fairy tale selves lack in bruises, they make up for in hair." Eyeing the far more manageable head of hair in the mirror, Lizzie could only nod.

"Ah, good," her dad's voice sounded behind them. "You seem to have found your door." When they both turned to face him, the Dragon King raised an eyebrow and asked, "Are you sure this is the door you wish?" Since the mirrors to either side had the bruise in the wrong spot—her nose and then her forehead—Lizzie nodded. "And you have the keys to the door? The truths you were sent to learn?"

That one, she wasn't so sure about. But to Lizzie's surprise, when she turned to Gordo, he was already nodding. Huh. And just last night he'd said he hadn't learned anything. Maybe Judith had said something this morning when Lizzie'd been speaking with Zev? Or maybe he'd realized something during the carpet ride? Not that there would have been much of anything to realize. They'd only spoken about the crane and its—

"Liz?" Gordo's voice brought her eyes to his.

"What?"

"Do you have all your," he smiled a little, "_truths_?"

Bloody hell. She'd been so wrapped up in thinking about him, she'd forgotten to answer. "Yeah." She nodded. "Yeah, I'm all truthed out." Of course, there was one little thing she had left to do....

"Then," the Dragon King said, "when you are ready, touch the glass to journey home."

There wasn't any rule saying she _had _to do it, at least not here. She could wait until they got home. That might be okay.

"Lizzie?" Gordo asked, and her eyes again met his—an eager, lucent blue-grey. "You first."

She could wait to tell him. She could. Fingers trembling, she raised her hand to the mirror. No rush, he didn't need to know _here_. Just because she'd learned _here_, didn't mean—

"Aw, hell," she winced. Dropping her hand, barely looking up, she muttered through clenched teeth, "I forgot something," and, before Gordo could formulate a reply, launched herself at him.

Incredibly, after all her worrying, after all her fear, in the end, it was almost easy.

Almost, because she couldn't quite forget the fear. Almost, because, after all, she'd never kissed him before. Almost, because her aim needed a little work, and she'd forgotten to unclench her teeth, and saying he was _surprised_ was putting Gordo's reaction a little mildly.

But if it wasn't truly easy, it was definitely, entirely sweet.

He was warm and solid and so familiar. He was comfortable, just the right height to kiss, just the right shape inside her arms. And his mouth, startled and uncertain as her own at first, gained confidence in a moment, corrected her wayward trajectory, and returned her kiss heat for heat, breath for breath, love for—

Jolted by the thought, Lizzie broke away. Did he love her too? Was he _in _love with her? His eyes, when hers found them, were a dark, clouded blue, dazed with dawning comprehension, but they held no answers. Lifting a hand to her mouth—she could almost still feel his lips, like some new, foreign pressure, like the very first kiss of her life, when her mind couldn't help playing it over and over again—she raised the other hand and pressed it flat to the mirror.

Darkness roared in, consuming her vision, banding, restrictive, around her body, unraveling the breath from her lungs. And then, the blackness contracted, shuddered, and shattered into a million shards of light. Around and around the bright pinpoints danced, like stars swirling in the eternity of a night, and Lizzie flying, still and frozen, between them, faster and faster until the stars streamed like ribbons. Until the ribbons merged. Until light and white filled her eyes. Until nothing.

**####  
end of chapter 21**


	22. In One Night

**Black Knight 03**, yeah, things are kinda winding down now...which makes me rather sad, too. :( Nothing else in the works right now, but who knows? **bojanglesbiscuit**, the restaurant makes a whole lot more sense than the song, which only made me wonder where the 'biscuit' came in. :D Anyway, so glad you liked the Dragon King's palace! Thank you, **PaLM TRee 101**, I hope you like this chapter as much! Whichever, **Jay**: 'Faith' is closest to who I am, but 'Kiamn' is closest to my name, so it's easier to remember to sign. ;) Feel free to use either one! **Lara783**, I can't tell you how glad I am to hear someone _knew that song...not to mention how delighted I am to know you loved the kiss description. Never having written one before, I was more than a little nervous about how it'd come across. :D Whew! Well, they're back, **swim6516**, and I hope you like what happens next...even if it is close to the finish.** MP**...I don't even know what to say...except Thank you. And Thank you. **Ziny**, next chapter's up! Hope you like it! You have awesome timing, **bfk1122**, as I'm just about finished writing this little ditty. So you've gotten almost all the story in one big bite (which is, personally, my favorite way to read stuff ;D). Anyway, thank you and I hope you do manage to find and read the original fairy tales. **MU**, best of luck on the history homework...and I hope you didn't have to wait too long to read this! :)_

**Chapter 22: In One Night**

Something was ringing.

Something very loud and very close. Something that sounded an awful lot like a telephone.

Telephone?

Lizzie's eyes shot open, winced closed again at the bright sunlight beaming through the window. But she'd seen enough in that brief glimpse to know where she was. _Home_. Her cheeks felt stiff under the pressure of her smile, and she reached up to touch them. Stiff and gritty and just the littlest bit sticky. What on earth...?

The phone was still ringing. Grumbling, she slitted raw, gummy eyes open just enough to make out the handset on her night table. Rubbing her eyes with one hand, she reached for the phone with the other, thumbed the talk button, mumbled, "'Lo?"

The voice on the other end roared into her ears: "Lizzie McGuire, you have a lot of explaining to do!"

Pulling the phone a safe distance away, Lizzie cleared her throat and asked, "Miranda?"

"Of course it's me! Do you know anyone else who sounds like me?"

Lizzie chuffed a laugh. "Funny you should ask—"

But apparently the question was rhetorical. "I'm calling about Gordo," Miranda interrupted.

What? "Gordo?" Her eyes were almost as sticky as her cheeks. Geez, if she didn't know better, she'd say she'd been—

"Yes. He IMed me last night about that fight you had."

—crying. "Bloody hell," Lizzie breathed, eyes blinking open for good this time, bleary or no. Had all those days in the bubble universe occurred in just one night in her own reality? Gingerly, she sat up, looked around. Sure enough, there were the fairy tale books on her desk. And she was still wearing the jeans and van Gogh t-shirt she'd worn the day of the Fight. And she was on top of her covers, where she'd cried herself to sleep—apparently—last night. "Unbelievable," she said.

"Isn't that just what I've been saying?" Miranda demanded. "I cannot _believe _you fought with Gordo. I mean, you've been behaving like a first class witch lately, but you _never _fight with Gordo, not like that. Lizzie McGuire, you have got to patch things up with that boy."

"Done, Miranda," Lizzie replied, thinking only to get her friend to stop shouting at her. Damn, Miranda got shrill when she was angry.

"What? How could you have apologized already?" Crap. That sucking at keeping secrets thing again. "It's only nine o'clock in the morning—" Lizzie's eyes flicked to her clock; 9:06, actually, "—and Gordo didn't IM me until three. He can't even be awake yet!"

"No," Lizzie conceded, rubbing her eyes again. She needed to wash her face. Bad. "Must've been my dream. I think I dreamed I explained things to Gordo." Which wasn't precisely untrue.

"Did your explanation make any sense? 'Cuz you're gonna need some good reasons for what you said, chica, not to mention for how you've been behaving lately. I was all prepared to be patient, let you work things out on your own, but that fight with Gordo put me square in the middle. Best Friend Rule #12: A best friend doesn't let her other best friends destroy their friendship without intervening."

"I thought that was #26."

"#26 is 'Friends don't let friends drive drunk.'" _Of course._ "Now, did that dream-explanation make sense?"

"A lot of sense, actually." Maybe she wouldn't have to tell Miranda just yet?

A pause, then, "Well?"

No such luck. But perhaps telling Miranda now would make saying the words to Gordo a little easier when the time came. Drawing a deep breath, Lizzie exhaled, "I'm in love with Gordo."

There was a long, long silence on the other end. And then there was a scream. "Ack!" Lizzie winced, pulling the phone from her ear again.

Miranda, still shouting, was easy to understand even at a distance. "Lizzie!!" she exclaimed. "Holy guacamole! I can't believe you finally figured it out!"

The phone came back. "'Finally figured it out'?" Lizzie repeated. "What?"

"Of course." The roll of Miranda's eyes was clearly audible in her voice. "I've known that forever. I just can't believe I didn't guess that was why you were behaving so strangely lately."

"You've known forever?" Lizzie echoed again. "How could you've known? _I _didn't even know! Gordo didn't know!"_ Secret-keeping, McGuire._ "I-I mean, in the dream," she stammered, "in the _dream_, he didn't know."

"Well, of course he didn't know." Another roll of Miranda's eyes. "Even in a dream, if Gordo knew, he would have asked you out already."

"What?" She must still be half-asleep, because Miranda wasn't making any sense this morning.

"Lizzie, pay attention because I'm only going to say this once: David Gordon has been in love with you, Elizabeth McGuire, since seventh grade."

This time, Lizzie couldn't even manage a _what?!_ It was impossible. Gordo could _not _have been in love with her for—she did a quick count—almost five years without her knowing it. He could _not_.

Miranda, evidently blissfully unaware of Lizzie's shock, was still talking. "Now, let me see if I can guess how it went. You were in love with Gordo, but didn't know it, so when you found out about that workshop thing, you were, first, jealous that Am knew he'd applied and you didn't. Then you were scared because it seemed as though he was going to rocket into the future and leave you behind. Then you were worried because if he left you behind, he might find someone else to take your place. But since you didn't know why you were feeling all this, you just felt angry and upset all the time instead."

Damn, she was good. "What is that? Best Friend Rule #2?"

"'Always give Miranda awesome Christmas presents'?"

Lizzie laughed. "Well, I was gonna say, 'Know your best friend so well you can explain their thoughts to them.'"

"That isn't a rule, chica," Miranda laughed back, "that's being a best friend."

Of course it was. Smiling in spite of the sudden blurring of her eyes, Lizzie sighed, "Man, I missed you."

Miranda huffed, "Well, next time try to know when you're in love with someone, okay? Then, I won't have to leave you alone while you're freaking out."

That wasn't quite what she'd meant, but Lizzie grinned, offered gamely, "There won't be a next time."

It was a wink Lizzie could hear in her friend's words this time: "I know." Then, more seriously, "Just make sure you tell him, chica."

"I will." _I have. Sorta._

"Good. Well, since my job is done, and I have to meet Jon at church in half an hour, I'll leave you to ponder my wisdom. Good luck telling Gordo the truth, Lizzie."

"Thanks, Miranda. Bye." Miranda returned with an _adios_, and Lizzie thumbed the phone off, staring at her closet door.

There were so many things swimming in her head, she didn't even know where to begin fishing them out. Jaws cracking with a yawn, Lizzie scrubbed a hand over her face. _Shower_, she thought. _Everything'll make sense when I've showered_. If nothing else, she'd at least _feel _ready to tackle her muddled mind after showering. Scrambling out of her clothes, she swung her robe on and padded eagerly for the bathroom.

A blissful forty-five minutes later, Lizzie emerged from the bathroom, clean, far more awake, but no less confused.

"I'm home," she said to her reflection as she raked a comb through her hair. (Her hair! Her own, normal-amount, manageable hair!) "I'm home from a bubble universe." The Lizzie in the mirror wrinkled her nose. "Assuming it really was a bubble universe and not a dream." But even as she said it, she was shaking her head. Not even in her subconscious was she creative enough to have dreamed such detail as they'd encountered. Besides, she didn't even know most of those fairy tales. How could she have dreamed about them?

"So," she sighed, rolling her wet hair back into a towel, "definitely not a dream, then. But how can I only have been gone one night?" One long night, granted, as it couldn't have been much later than nine o'clock when she'd cried herself to sleep. Still.... "I feel as though at least a week's passed. Maybe two." She shrugged, rummaged through her closet. "To me, I guess a week _has _passed. Talk about your jet-lag."

All in all, though, that wasn't really a bad thing. She'd done a lot of learning in those days in the bubble universe, and now she had the opportunity to patch things up, as Miranda had put it, while her friends were still relatively in charity with her. How long had it been in her reality since she'd started acting weird? Slipping into a pair of dark brown corduroy pants and a short-sleeved turquoise sweater, she counted back. "Five days." She huffed, pulled the towel from her hair. "Only five days. Amazing."

But it wasn't _only _five days. Not really. She'd spent those five days all but isolated from her friends. And after one two-week-long night in a bubble universe, she almost felt she knew the fairy tale people better than she knew her friends. "Great job, McGuire," she mumbled to herself as she hung up the towel and pulled her hair dryer from under the sink. "Really great job."

She'd witnessed the Brothers' rescue of Lily, Evarado and Nadie's wedded bliss, the Black Snake's mysticism. She'd watched Loyde and Aurelia grapple to come to terms with one another, Arevhat face her past, Zev and Judith reunite. She didn't know anything of her friends' lives these past few days. Probably nothing too earth-shattering had happened, but she hadn't been there to find out. She'd been awful.

In the bathroom mirror, her hair was falling into place under brush and hair dryer. Meeting her own brown eyes, she frowned. "So fix it, McGuire," she told herself firmly. "It's not as though they've all decided to ignore you forever and ever. Now that you know how awful you've been, fix it."

And the first step in that direction was Gordo.

What was she going to do about Gordo? If they'd really been in a bubble universe, if Gordo had actually been with her there, then he knew she was in love with him. She'd seen that realization growing in his eyes just before she'd touched the glass and rocketed back home.

But if he hadn't really been there? What was she going to do? Geez, she didn't know if she could stand to go through the whole kiss-and-tell debacle all over again. And she'd have to. Apologizing for the Fight included explaining the Fight...and her behavior of the past five days. Besides, she'd already covered this ground: Gordo deserved to know she was in love with him.

No matter what, the coming conversation was not going to be easy. Or comfortable. Not when she didn't know how Gordo was going to react to knowing she loved him.

Of course, if Miranda could be believed, Gordo had been in love with her since seventh grade. Which boded very well indeed for the conversation. Lizzie just wasn't sure whether Miranda really _could _be believed. She'd been right about Lizzie's feelings—even before Lizzie knew—but that didn't necessarily mean she was right about Gordo. After all, Miranda hadn't given any reasons for why she thought what she did. Maybe she'd just drawn the wrong conclusions about a few considerate Gordo-glances. He did those a lot. Especially around Miranda and her.

If only she could be objective enough to evaluate Gordo's behavior herself! But he'd been her best friend for so long that she was used to him showing her the same sort of kindness and attention he usually reserved for the girls he dated.

And that was another thing! If he'd really been in love with her for five years, how come he'd dated other women in all that time? Am Smith was by no means the only girl he'd gone out with since freshman year.

Turning off the hair dryer, Lizzie shoved it under the sink and yanked her brush through her hair. "Argh," she growled. "There's just no way to know!" Her stomach growled fierce agreement, then rumbled, as though to say there _were _more important things in life than obsessing over her love life. Things like hunger. And ending hunger. "Right," she chuckled, putting her hairbrush away. "Food."

And food definitely sounded good. Especially as she didn't have to eat anything even remotely like bread and cheese. Although a toasted bagel and cream cheese wouldn't go amiss. Not at all.

Shoving her feet into a pair of fuzzy socks, she skidded down the stairs and into the kitchen, where the smell of coffee hung in the air and a note waited for her on the counter. Picking it up, Lizzie recognized her mother's handwriting, read:

_Lizzie, sweetheart, coffee's waiting in the pot whenever you get up. Matt's over at the middle school for an emergency meeting of the school paper, and your father and I have gone for an early bike ride. I'm not sure how long we'll be, with the weather as lovely as it is, but enjoy the peace and quiet while you can. Love you and see you later!  - Mom_

Amazing she hadn't noticed said peace and quiet until just now, but the house really was too still for the rest of her family to be wandering around. Not that she minded. On the contrary, with all the stuff muffling her brain, she needed all the peace and quiet she could get. _And coffee_, she reminded herself, fetching a mug. If coffee and quiet—and food, her stomach insisted—didn't help her sort herself out, nothing would.

But by the time Lizzie had finished a bagel with cream cheese, a cluster of grapes, some chicken salad, a cookie, and her cup of coffee, all she'd managed to sort out was that she probably ought to proofread her science paper one more time, she _loved _toasted almonds, and that Tudgeman might require serious hypnosis to finally pay Am the right kind of attention.

Heaving a heavy sigh, she looked down into her empty coffee cup and shook her head. "This is hopeless," she muttered. As if in agreement, the squares of lemon sunlight on the dining room floor flickered then dimmed to shadow, leaving Lizzie shivering, inhaling deep breaths of the sweet, brown sugar scent of drying coffee. Suddenly, she couldn't bear to be inside anymore. After pouring herself another cup of coffee, Lizzie headed for the back yard, where she could hear a faint April wind rustling through new leaves, drawing a low, silvery murmur from the wind chime hanging from the tree's branches.

Just as she opened the back door, though, the sun beamed from behind a cloud, blinding her. Squinting, she stepped out on the deck, closed the door, and eased her eyes open. The light felt wonderful, sliding brilliant and warm to prick a faint, welcome ache at the back of her eyes. Most people wore sunglasses in such bright sunlight, but it almost never bothered Lizzie; besides, after spending every day of almost two bubble universe weeks outside, the sun almost felt like home.

Smiling softly, peace of mind much restored, Lizzie opened her eyes completely, swept a glance over the back yard, and with a jolt, met the blue-grey eyes of her best friend.

"Gordo!" she exclaimed, nearly dropping her coffee cup. "W-what are you doing here?" _Stupid!_ she winced, _Don't make him feel _welcome _or anything, McGuire!_ "I-I mean," she amended, "I thought you'd be sleeping. From what I heard, you had a pretty late night last night."

From where he sat at the top of the deck stairs, Gordo grinned. "Miranda called you, huh?" he guessed.

"Yeah," she admitted, her answering smile slightly sheepish. "Apparently she felt it her duty to yell me back into shape."

"Of course," he replied, rolling his eyes. "I should've guessed she'd do that."

Lizzie managed a laugh in response, but couldn't think of anything to say. All she could really do was look at him. He seemed so strange with his hair shorter, wearing jeans, flip-flops, and a grey t-shirt instead of standard bubble universe gear. Strange, but so beautiful. She'd always known he was cute, even handsome, but he'd also been just Gordo, and she'd accepted those things without thinking too much about them.

But now, she couldn't help looking at the broad, spare expanse of his back beneath the t-shirt, the corded muscle of his forearms, the square elegance of his hands. His hair made her fingers itch to touch it, burrow deep amid the curls, perhaps to hold his head still while she carefully measured the length of his eyelashes. And his eyebrows—she traced the smooth, eloquent curve of them with her eyes, her gaze lingering over the faint, unshaven shadow on his cheeks, lean beneath the mature etch of the bone. No, the Gordo she saw now might be cute or handsome, but more than that, he was beautiful, a delight, a balm, even as her stomach flipped nervously beneath her ribs, well aware of all the questions lying between them.

She didn't even know where to begin asking them.

So, instead, she dragged her eyes from detailing his every feature and dropped them into her coffee cup. _Coffee!_ "D-do you want some coffee?" she asked, abruptly realizing she was still standing in front of the back door, as though she expected him to leave any minute. Not exactly what a genial hostess would do, let alone a best friend. "It's fresh-brewed. Well, relatively fresh-brewed...my mom brewed it before she and my dad left to go biking, which might have been only a little while ago or it might have been an hour or so ago, but that's not _so _long and I think the coffee still counts as fresh-brewed...or relatively...and, anyway, if you're sleepy, it's just the thing."

Dammit. She was babbling. _Shut-up, McGuire!_

Fortunately, Gordo didn't seem to notice. Or rather, he probably had noticed, only was too nice to laugh at her and make her feel even more ridiculous than she already did. Instead, he merely shook his head, answered, "Nah, I'm okay. I may have gone to sleep late last night, but I feel like I've been asleep for days." His eyes met hers with startling directness. "Or something," he drawled, one corner of his mouth quirking up.

There could be no doubt what he meant by that; Lizzie gulped a throat-searing mouthful of hot coffee, even though, judging by the way her hands had started to shake, it was obvious she'd had too much caffeine already.

"C'mon, Liz," Gordo urged, holding her gaze as he patted the patch of deck beside him. "Sit down and let's talk."

_Just what I wanted_, Lizzie thought sarcastically. Nevertheless, she shuffled over to sit down next to him.

"Let's talk, huh?" she snorted. "We have so much to talk about it's not even funny, Gordo. As Miranda so kindly informed me this morning, there's the Fight to resolve, and my behavior to explain, and I owe you an apology, and we should probably talk about the-the b-bubble universe—" Despite herself, she felt a little apprehensive saying that: what if she'd misread him? But he only nodded, eyes bright as he slowly slipped the coffee mug from her hands, raising it for a sip before setting it on the deck somewhere behind them. "Right," she continued, "the bubble universe and the stuff we learned and what happened after I-I-I—" She just could _not _say it.

Gordo, on the other hand, didn't seem to have that problem. "Kissed me?" he asked easily. Nodding, he agreed, "Yes, there is all that to talk about, Liz. Just one thing, though, before we get started?"

"Hmm?" she asked, mouth dry as her fingers knotted in her lap. Where'd he put her coffee cup again?

"Just this, Liz."

And this time, _he_ kissed _her_.

**####   
****end of chapter 22**


	23. Ghost Dancing for 300

_Once again, I apologize for posting so late. RL interfered with a vengeance—one day without power, therefore without computer, and two (count them! two!) Thanksgiving dinners to work around. Add that to a very difficult chapter to write, and it's a miracle I'm only a week late. ;) To make everything clear, this is the last chapter, but I will be posting an epilogue in another two weeks, so that'll actually be the last of the story. Now, on to the thank yous!_

_**Jay**, another chapter of the same length for ya...and I'm so glad you liked the last one. Thank you, **bojanglesbiscuit**, and I'm sorry it wasn't a "soon" update, but I hope the wait is worth it. :) I'm honored, **PaLM TRee 101**, and I hope you find this chapter just as realistic as the last. ::crossing fingers:: **Black Knight 03**, this isn't quite the ending-ending, but it's close enough that I hope you like it. ;) **Hermione781**—wow! Thank you so, so much for taking the time to give me such a long and detailed review! I don't quite have the room here to go point-by-point, but let me say that I'm so glad you found this little ditty (that I've struggled and swore over :D) worth delving into, ignoring your homework for, analyzing, and exclaiming over. I hope you _do _read the stuff on my website...and, please, feel free to email me on it. I promise I won't bite. ;) **JuliansGIrl**, I think the trick with research is to do most of it on stuff you like. Then, when you have to do a little on stuff you don't care about, it's not quite as painful. Of course, that's not always possible...and in that instance, I grumble and complain and take frequent breaks. :D Thank you so much, **Betsy**, and I hope the epilogue will do as well as a sequel! Aw, **Ziny**, I'm so glad...I know that's one of the primary reasons I write: if I can't live my dreams, at least I can make them as real as possible (complete with dialogue!). Right back at ya, **swim6516**, and I don't think I'll ruin anything by saying there's more kissing coming up. ;) Not quite the ending, **MysteriouslyUnique**, but I hope you feel the same way when the ending _does_ come. :)_

**Chapter 23: Ghost Dancing for 300**

It could almost be another dream, the world a mist around her and she, falling, adrift in a deepening well of sensation. Gordo's mouth brushed hers once, twice, and clung, shaping to hers with all command and most exquisite tenderness. Her strength and her soul and her heart fled with her breath, stolen into him until all that remained was the hollow beat of her blood and the sunlight passing into her, through her—she merely brittle, brilliant crystal.

And then, another breath, the tide flowing back, his essence drawing deep into her lungs, his truth flooding her mouth. Beneath the feel of his chill fingers on her cheek, one thumb angled to her chin, beneath the warm sweep of his hand from her shoulder to her elbow, grip firm but so gentle—beneath it all, she could hear his heart as surely as he'd spoken the words.

He loved her, was in love with her.

As though he'd found the sweetness of that revelation in her mouth, Gordo drew away. For a long moment, Lizzie just sat there, lightheaded, forehead resting on Gordo's, her nose brushing his as she tried to shuffle her mind into order again. Her heart was pounding, and so, she realized, was his, beating hard and rapid against her hand, fisted in his shirt. Her other hand, she saw through slitted eyes, lay on his knee, careless and easy as though it belonged there.

This was so peculiar. Beyond peculiar, really. She'd just slipped into that kiss as though she'd been designed for nothing else. Which despite late discoveries of love, not to mention the long history of friendship, was still a little on the freaky side.

For all that, it had been a helluva kiss. The best kiss she'd ever had, actually.

Beneath her hand, Gordo's chest rumbled, his breath puffing against her lips in a laugh. "Thank you," he said, and Lizzie jerked away, eyes wide. _Bloody hell, did I say that out loud?_ "Yes," Gordo replied, laughing again at her dropped jaw. "The question was pretty obvious, Liz," he explained. "Remember I've known you all my life?"

Oh. Right. Lizzie blinked. Then shivered as the hand cupping her elbow slid slowly down her forearm, brushing a thumb over the inside of her wrist before his fingers found hers. "Thank you," he repeated, "and let me say I quite agree. But I always knew kissing you would be better than kissing anyone else."

"Oh?" Lizzie rasped. Clearing her throat she tried again, "'Always'?"

He grinned. "Well, for as long as I've been in love with you."

"Five years." It was more a statement than a question, and she could've kicked herself the instant the words slipped out. Miranda might well have been wrong, after all—in which case, she'd just made a complete fool of herself.

But Gordo only nodded, eyebrows peaking as he said, "Yeah. How'd you know that?"

"Miranda told me. This morning, after I told her, after I said, uh—" How was it, after everything, the words were so difficult to speak? _C'mon, McGuire, he said them. Just spit it out. _"After I told her I was in love with you."

His eyes were incandescent, vibrantly blue-grey. "You can't know," he said, voice so low she almost couldn't hear him, "how long I've dreamed of hearing you say that."

Oy. The way he looked at her... She licked suddenly dry lips. He must never have looked at her like that before—she _definitely _would have noticed. Now, what had he said again? "Uh," she swallowed, scrambling to remember. _Oh. Yeah. _"No," she agreed. "But, uh, you can't know how little I expected to _ever _hear you say it back."

He laughed, but his eyes gleamed sympathy. "Shows how much you know," he teased. "I said it _first_."

"Ha!" she scoffed, glaring in mock-outrage. "You did _not!_"

"Did so!" he insisted through a grin. "Just now. Didn't you hear me?"

"Of course I heard you! But that was after I kissed you."

"So?"

"_So_, that kiss was as good as a declaration. Which means, _I_ told _you_ first."

Gordo hmphed. "A kiss is not a declaration."

It was all Lizzie could do not to laugh at the condescending tilt of his eyebrow. "I see. So, if I hadn't kissed you, you would have told me you loved me today anyway?"

For a moment, Gordo said nothing. Then, with a regal sniff, he drawled, "Clearly, we shall simply have to agree to disagree on this issue."

The laugh burst through. "Clearly." Still smiling, she said, "We'll probably still be disagreeing when we're eighty."

Abruptly, all humor was gone from his face. His voice low, husky, he whispered, "Oh, I hope so." And there was that look again, turning her mouth to dust.

_Obviously, my capacity for speech is going to suffer_, she thought, striving vainly to summon something like regret. Oh, well. She shrugged. She didn't have to talk all the time. _After all, _some wicked voice snickered, _there are certainly other ways to communicate_.Immediately, she could feel a blush sweeping to the tips of her ears.

And judging by the puzzled line over Gordo's nose, he'd noticed. "What are you thinking about?" he asked. Oh, yeah. He'd noticed.

Lifting a hand to cool her hot cheek, Lizzie shook her head. "Just, um, just about talking."

Gordo's nod was a shade on the suspicious side, but he merely said, "Yeah. That's right. I guess we do need to talk. That's what I came here for, after all." With a wink, he amended, "Some of what I came here for, anyway." Squeezing her hand, "Where do you want to begin?"

Begin? Nowhere. Now that things were going so well, the last thing she wanted to do was be serious. But they did need to talk. "The beginning's probably the best place," she sighed. "And I think the beginning is my...weird...behavior. Um, lately." He nodded, squeezed her hand again, and after drawing a deep breath, Lizzie began.

It was not in the least comfortable to bare the last few days to him. Not when doing so required her to dwell on her anger and fear and worry and jealousy—not exactly her best traits, to say the least. But his eyes spoke concern and understanding and even regret. They did not condemn, even if they also did not approve, and only once did they flash angry.

"I hate it when you do that," he interrupted, voice flat and hard as his expression.

Lizzie blinked in surprise. "Do what?" she asked slowly.

"What you just did. Saying how you're not as smart as I am, how if I go to a different college I'll find someone better than you." He shook his head. "Don't you understand? There is _no one_ better than you." A smile pricked the edge of his mouth. "I could search the whole world over—hell, I could even search the bubble universe—and I still wouldn't find someone better than you. I haven't been in love with you for _five years _on a whim, Liz. It's not like I didn't have better things to do. It's not like I'm blind. You aren't perfect. Okay. I get that. But as far as I can see, you're perfect for me. And that's not going to change. Ever."

Lizzie couldn't speak. Again. Only this time, her mouth worked fine: the words simply wouldn't come.

A problem Gordo was _not _having. "Do you remember," he asked, "that first night we spent with the brothers? We were filling waterskins at the stream, and you thought I got angry?" She nodded. "I said I wasn't angry, but...well, I lied." At the shocked drop of her jaw, he gave a rueful smile and explained, "I _was_ angry. Not about the Fight, which you thought, but I was definitely angry. You'd just finished telling me how nice it was that in the bubble universe we were equally ignorant. That we had to work together to figure things out, instead of me knowing more than you. That you didn't mind when I knew more than you, but it was nice occasionally when I didn't." He sighed. "I hate it when you do that. When you compare yourself to me and find yourself lacking. I don't know if you'll ever stop doing that, but please, Liz, please just trust me, trust that I wouldn't be in love with you if you were really inferior to me." He brushed a finger to her cheek. "Okay?"

She was nodding long before she succeeded in mustering words. "Okay. I'm sorry. I—"

The finger moved to her lips. "Don't apologize. I just needed to tell you that. I don't want you thinking you're not good enough. If you do, I'm obviously falling down on my job as your best friend. Or your boyfriend, for that matter." He paused, shot a sharp glance at her. "I _am _gonna be your boyfriend, right?"

She couldn't help laughing at the grin lurking in his eyes. "I should hope so!"

He gave an exaggerated sigh of relief. "Thought for a moment I might have to beg."

Now why hadn't _she_ thought of that? Hmm. Before she could tell him she'd changed her mind, he spoke again. "Now that's settled," he asserted, eyes a little wild, "I, uh, believe you were in the middle of explaining the past few days when I interrupted? I'm done now, though, so feel free to continue."

Sneaky. Sending him a look she hoped clearly expressed her intent to follow up on that begging thing, she did just as he asked. "There isn't much more to say, really," she shrugged. "Except that I didn't tell you what I was thinking not because I didn't want to, but because I couldn't. It wasn't until halfway through our time in the bubble universe that _I _even understood what I was thinking."

His eyebrows jumped in surprise. "When was that?"

"When I was with the mother of the Sun." Lizzie nodded, "Yeah, quite a shocker, believe me. She as much as told me I was in love with you and that was why I had been behaving so oddly lately. It was one of those things I was supposed to learn before we could go home."

"_One_ of those things?" he asked, still transparently startled. "There was more than one?"

_Crap._ "Gordo," she groaned, lifting her hands to her face—including the one Gordo still held. "I _suck _at keeping secrets. _Why _do I suck at keeping secrets?"

He chuckled, tugging her hand down to unveil one eye. "Why would you want to keep this secret, Liz?" He was smiling, but there was a touch of worry in the lines of his mouth.

She dropped both hands away. "I don't know. It's just...awkward, telling you this stuff. Even though I know it shouldn't be." _And a great way to start a relationship this is, McGuire! _Oy. She was being ridiculous. Drawing a deep breath, "Okay. If I tell you the stuff I learned in the bubble universe, will you tell me what you learned?"

Raising his free hand, he swore, "I promise."

"Okay. Good. Maybe I won't feel so nervous telling you, then. It's just, we don't talk about _this _stuff, you know? At least, we never used to...and it's just, you know, a little—"

"Weird," he finished for her, his smile easy now. "Yeah, and for good reason, Liz. I _hate _hearing you talk about other guys. And it's impossible to be objective whenever we _objectively _discuss stuff like attraction and dating and true love."

Which they'd spoken about several times in the bubble universe...fairly objectively, as far as Lizzie could remember. Why was that?

Her confusion must have been obvious, for Gordo said, "You have no idea how completely _unobjective _I really was when we talked about that stuff in the bubble universe. I was sarcastic, remember, and silly and sometimes even a little rude?" She thought about it for a moment, then nodded: he'd certainly been all those things. "That stuff was just a screen of sorts that allowed me to say exactly how I felt. Guys most certainly _do _find you attractive, and I absolutely will _not _tell any of them to ask you out. I really _do _believe a person can know true love in high school—middle school, in my case—and I have every intention of living my future next to you, day in and day out. I wasn't objective by any stretch of the imagination."

Wow. What on earth could she say to that? She wasn't about to ask if he'd just proposed marriage—that was moving just a little _too _fast, thank you very much. After swallowing several times, regaining control of her tongue again, Lizzie squeezed his hand tight and said, simply, "In the mother of the Sun's palace I figured out that I was in love with you. I also learned that I needed to tell you, but I tried for a while to ignore that part. Then I met Zev. He told me about how he'd fallen in love with Judith but never would have known she loved him back if she hadn't kissed him. He said I needed to tell you, even though I was scared, because you're my best friend and I owed you the truth." She smiled. "I don't think it was just the learning of those things that got us home. I think I had to put them into practice too."

He grinned back. "Which you certainly did."

Her ears were going red again; she could feel it. Trying not to look as embarrassed as she felt, she asked a hurried, "Now what about you? What did you learn?"

But Gordo ignored the question, grin warping into a knowing smirk as he continued, "Which I'm _definitely_ glad you did."

The flush swept her cheekbones, down her neck. _Probably down to my toes._ If only she had a pillow handy. Instead she had to settle for a glare and slapping her free hand against his shoulder...a free hand he immediately captured. "Gordo," she grumped, attempting to tug her hand from his grip. "C'mon. You promised to tell me what you learned."

"So I did," he agreed equably, eyes bright and laughing.

Lizzie waited a moment, then demanded, "And?"

"And," he drawled, eyes dropping to their joined hands, "so I will." He glanced up, then, and Lizzie was startled to find his laughter all but disappeared, the merest flicker in the depths of suddenly serious eyes. Before she could ask if anything was wrong, he'd lowered his gaze again and spoken, voice very soft. "I've been waiting for you to fall in love with me for a long time. I'd decided when I was twelve—or maybe thirteen?—that I wouldn't tell you how I felt. Instead, I'd just wait, you know, for you to come to your senses. Only, what I didn't realize—didn't know—was that there's only so long you can wait for someone before you have to go on with your life."

Lizzie's fingers tightened reflexively on Gordo's; surely he wasn't saying what it _sounded _like he was saying... He didn't answer, didn't even raise his eyes. Instead, he simply kept talking. "In the past year or so, without even knowing it, I'd started living more than I was waiting. Which isn't to say that I'd stopped hoping you'd love me back—I don't think I even knew _how _to do that—but I'd started looking to my future without expecting to find you in it. The media workshop, college, my career—you weren't in the picture. Only, I didn't know it. At least, I didn't know it until that conversation you and I had about the turtle and the crane."

Her breath caught, snagged, then ripped loose, audibly ragged. This time he looked up, eyes very grey on hers. "If you're the turtle, I'm the crane." There was a question somewhere in his words, and Lizzie answered it with a nod. Yes, he was without doubt the Love of her Life. "But the crane leaves the turtle, and suddenly, as I was thinking about the parallels, I realized that, without even knowing it, I was slowly leaving you." She shook her head, barely aware of Gordo mirroring the movement. "You see, I'd set myself up to make a choice—you or my life. But that's a choice I _never _want to make—never _wanted_ to make.

"Waiting for you to love me," a smile strained his mouth, "that was fine for the thirteen-year-old. But for an older me, waiting wasn't going to work. I'd been coming to that realization over the weeks we spent traveling in the bubble universe, and suddenly it crashed in on me. If you were ever to share my future with me, if I was ever to _not _make that choice, I'd have to tell you how I felt and deal with your reaction." His hand withdrew from hers, rose to cup her cheek. "You might never be able to love me back, but at least then I could get on with my life knowing how you felt. At least then I'd know I hadn't just left you behind." His lips brushed her forehead. Still leaning close, he whispered, "That's what I learned, Lizzie. Only," his laugh chuffed against her lips, "I was still too much in shock to act on it before we left. I guess it was enough that I learned it at all."

Opening her eyes, Lizzie pulled away from Gordo just enough for him to see her smile. "If the learning was anywhere near as painful as hearing the retelling," she said, "then I'd have to agree."

The hand on her cheek slid into her hair, drawing her to meet a short, soft apology of a kiss. "I didn't mean it to be painful," he said.

Lizzie, struggling now even to remember what _painful _meant, merely shook her head. "I'm just glad we had the chance to learn what we did, no matter what we had to experience to do it. Can you imagine what might have happened had we not been sucked into the bubble universe?"

Gordo winced. "It wouldn't have been pretty, that's for sure. In the normal course of things, it might've been a long time before we figured everything out, and by then, we might not even have been speaking anymore."

Lizzie couldn't quite suppress a shudder. "Still, for all that, I wonder why we got to go to the bubble universe. I mean, we're not the only people in the world who've had romantic problems and stuff. Why did we get to go, when others have to work things out here...or don't even manage to work things out at all?"

"I haven't the vaguest idea, Liz," Gordo shrugged. "In fact, I think we'd have better luck trying to guess whether the bubble universe moon is made of green cheese."

And considering there were a hundred other things a fairy tale moon might be, that was no easy task. Smiling, Lizzie said, "Well, whatever the reason, I'm glad we got to go."

"Me, too," Gordo whispered just before his mouth met hers.

She so hadn't been kidding when she'd thought herself designed for this. Kissing Gordo was bliss. What was the point of ever kissing anyone else? No other kiss could be as warm, as honest, as sweet, nor could it be as tender or gentle or certain, and there was no way anyone else could just draw her self out of—

A scream of earsplitting volume jolted her out of thoughts and kiss alike. Heart pounding in panic, Lizzie threw herself against Gordo's chest before realizing the scream was utterly human.

_Assuming you count Matt as human, that is_, she amended.

Behind them on the lawn, fists raised to the sky, knelt her brother, face twisted in ecstatic jubilation. "At last!" he was shouting, "at last I have prevailed!"

Swallowing her heart back into her chest, Lizzie glared, rasped, "What the hell are you talking about, freakazoid?"

"The pool!" Matt exulted, flopping backward into the grass.

"You don't have a pool, Matt." It was Gordo who spoke this time, voice just as hoarse as hers.

"Not a swimming pool!" her brother scoffed, thrashing his arms and legs as he laughed. "The _pool!_ The one that's up to three hundred dollars!" He went off into another fit of hysterical laughter, rolling over and over, back and forth. "The pool," he said, jumping to his feet, "that everyone has been contributing to for five years, trying to guess the date you two would finally figure it out."

Lizzie looked at Gordo, saw the same realization in his eyes. "A _betting _pool?" Gordo asked, although of course they both knew the answer already. "On when your sister and I would start dating?"

"Yes!" Matt cried. "And today was my last day for this school year!" He turned a wobbly handspring. "Wait until I tell Lanny! It worked! Hahaha, it _worked!_"

She was almost afraid to ask, but, "What worked?"

But Matt was turning more handsprings, shouting, "Who said prayers don't get answered!"

"Matt! Are you saying you _prayed _we'd come to our senses today?"

Gordo seemed to have more luck getting through to the little weasel, because Matt stopped jumping and turned to face them, shrugging. "Not exactly _prayed_, no. Lanny and I designed a Lizzie-and-Gordo-Get-Together dance based on the Native American ghost dance." Explanation given, Matt gave another shriek of, "Three hundred dollars!" and ran into the house.

For a long moment, Lizzie and Gordo merely stared at one another. Then Gordo said, very quietly, "You don't suppose—"

"No!" Lizzie said emphatically. Again, "No, absolutely not." No way was their trip to the bubble universe caused by—

"Even so," Gordo asserted, "I think I'm gonna have to make your brother my best man."

"Wha—" His mouth cut her off, and after a token struggle Lizzie relaxed into the kiss.

There were far more important things in life than annoying little brothers, after all.

**####  
end of chapter 23**

Chapter Notes: I don't, of course, own the ghost dance, but it _is _real and you can find some general info on its origins and even a little detail on the actual dance here: religiousmovements (dot) lib (dot) virginia (dot) edu (slash) nrms (slash) ghostdance (dot) h t m I'll leave the Lanny and Matt adaptation to your imaginations. ;)


	24. Epilogue: Two to Go

_At long last, the final chapter—and the final thank-yous. **Black Knight 03**, thank you...and I hope you enjoy this...maybe make you just a little less sad? **Lara783**, if 'twere up to me, you could certainly have a Gordo! ;) **swim6516**...wow, so weird to think this story won't be distracting you from college anymore! I should probably think that's a good thing, huh? :D **Kay**, am so glad your heart melted—I was hoping that might happen...to at least one person! :) Thank you, **Vazed**, and 'finally' is right! No worries, **pixievix**, I'm just happy to see you back...and that you're still enjoying this. :) Aw, **MP**, thank you—you are _absolutely_ welcome to archive this...I'm honored you'd want to! LOL, **Jay**, your enthusiasm cracks me up—I'm so glad you loved last chapter! **Ziny**, happiness is what I'm goin' for! Thank you! **I3itterSweet**, I'd wondered where you'd gone...glad to see you again...especially when it means I get three reviews for the price of one! :D **Hermione781**, yup, Matt is definitely the author of all things Strange...although I found out about his involvement in the bubble universe at about the moment Gordo and Lizzie did. ;) **writerchic16**, embrace the addiction...addiction is good...well, so long as it means you're enjoying the story, it's good, anyway. :D I do remember you, **Amanda**, and I'm glad you made it back, despite evil computer gremlins!_

_I hope you all enjoy a fantastic holiday season! Now, on to the chapter..._

**Epilogue: Two to Go**

"Just one sip?"

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"One sip won't hurt."

"You won't stop at just one sip."

"I will. I promise. Pleeeaase? Just one little, teeny-tiny sip? I _love _margaritas."

"Yes. And that's why you won't have just one 'little, teeny-tiny sip.' You'll down the whole glass. And that's bad."

"I won't."

"You will."

"Won't."

"Will."

"Won't."

No answer this time. Only one eloquent, raised eyebrow.

"You're cruel, Gordo." Her bottom lip was probably halfway across the table, Lizzie'd stuck it out so far. But he _was_ being cruel—even if he was right—and she'd damn well pout if she wanted to.

Gordo—damn him—only smiled. Sweetly. "I know it, Mrs. Gordo," he nodded, reaching to pat her hand where it lay clenched on top of the table. "Now drink your orange juice, love. You know how good the folic acid is for the baby."

Lizzie retracted her lip, mimicked in a low taunt, "'You know how good folic acid is for the baby.' Folic acid, schmolic acid," she declared. "I'm a doctor. I know all about folic acid and pregnancy. If I didn't have enough folic acid in my body when I got pregnant five months ago, the damage is already bloody well done. So don't force that folic acid good for the baby stuff on me, David Gordon. I want _margaritas_! Now, gimme a sip!"

"No." He sounded so calm. How could he sound so calm? Didn't he know his wife, the love of his life, was angry at him? Her fists clenched into tighter knots.

"Everyone _else_ is having margaritas." Under the table, one black-sandaled foot stomped.

"And you're having whine. I don't see how you're suffering." He was plainly fighting back a grin. Infuriating man! "Besides, Maggie isn't having a margarita."

Lizzie glanced across and down the long table to where a seven-months-pregnant Maggie Craft sat, skin glowing, big tummy an adorable curve beneath her strappy teal dress, her husband's arm around her shoulders as he raked a hand through still-impeccable hair. If she didn't like Ethan and Maggie Craft so much, she could hate them, they looked so gorgeous. Pouting again, Lizzie turned a glare on _her _husband, trying to ignore how yummy he appeared in black slacks and crisp grey shirt, his tie a soft watercolor bleed of greys and dark reds where it loosely circled his neck.

"She's beautiful," Lizzie announced. "She doesn't need a margarita. I, on the other hand, am a house. And everyone knows that a margarita—even just a sip!—keeps you from feeling like a house."

His grin won through at last. "Lizzie," he said, "I am not letting you have any of my margarita." Before she could launch into another tirade—all ready, perched on the very tip-tip of her tongue—he squeezed her close to him with the arm resting on the back of her chair and ran his other hand over the small mound of her stomach. As always, his touch settled and grounded her, calmed and soothed, and she could feel the anger and the discomfort and the irritation giving way. "You're not a house, Liz," he whispered, lips brushing a kiss to the soft skin right before her ear. "You're breathtaking and stunning and I'm the envy of every man in this restaurant."

"Are not," she protested, but the warm curl of a smile was eclipsing her pout. "Some of the men are married."

"I bet they can't even remember their wives' names now."

He was absurd. But so sweet. Giggles rising in her throat, she leaned closer to her husband, lifted a hand to play with the tails of his tie, and purred, "You just let me know if any cute ones come sniffing."

Gordo jumped, wide eyes meeting hers. "Over my dead body!" Immediately, the giggles fluttering behind her tongue poured out in a bright stream, deepening into full laughter as she watched Gordo valiantly attempt to suppress a manly pout. "You still can't have any of my margarita."

"I know, sweet," she conceded, leaning to peck his cheek, "and thank you for cheering me up."

After a moment, he grudged a gruff, "You're welcome," and the laughter flickering deep in his eyes convinced Lizzie it was safe to return to the conversations swirling around her.

Earlier that evening, she and Gordo had attended the Hillridge High School Class of '07 Ten-Year Reunion. Officially started in the morning with a Welcome Back Brunch, the reunion had continued with a few planned outings throughout the day and ended with a combination dinner and dance in the evening. Halfway through the dance portion, though, Lizzie and Gordo had agreed to join their high school friends in adjourning to the Saguaro Street Cocina, source of the best Mexican food Hillridge had to offer. There they'd ordered a handful of appetizers and margaritas all around—excepting Maggie and Lizzie, of course—and proceeded to catch up and reminisce and generally enjoy themselves immensely.

Despite having kept in contact throughout the years—granted, some better than others—they'd been talking almost non-stop for a little over two hours now. And still the alcohol and the conversation was flowing.

"All right, Maggie." On Gordo's other side sat Miranda, svelte and elegant in a cranberry slip dress...which she was nearly spilling into the appetizers as she leaned over the table. Miranda, Lizzie knew, enjoyed margaritas at least as much as Lizzie did. And Miranda wasn't pregnant—was, in fact, making the most of an evening among adults, away from her children, who were staying the night with Jon's parents. "All right," Miranda said again, and Lizzie didn't need to hear her next words to know what they were. Miranda had, after all, asked the same question four times that evening. "Tell us about Kate again, please?"

Jon Dukov groaned from where he sat between his wife and Bethel Washington. "No, no more about Kate Sanders, please!"

Miranda tossed long, black hair and leaned further toward Maggie over the table. "Ignore him, Mags," she said. "I want to hear about Kate again. Please?"

This time Larry Tudgeman groaned. "We've heard this story so many times tonight, I think _I _could tell it."

"So go ahead, Tudge," Miranda shrugged. "I don't really care who tells it. I just want to hear about the-the—" Her brow puckered. "Can't remember the name now. Whatsits? Those green things, shaped funny. They're soft and you mush 'em up?" She snapped her fingers, turned down the table. "Bethel. You're nice. You'll tell me what they are."

Plainly, Bethel wanted desperately to laugh, her dark eyes glittering with humor, but she took a deep breath and, in the voice Lizzie suspected the librarian used to help children, said, "Avocados, Miranda."

Before Miranda could respond, Am Smith jumped in with, "Yes, avocados. Miranda, if I tell you the story, will you _promise_ not to ask to hear it again?"

"I promise," Miranda said, then added with an alarmingly devious—and sober—grin, "At least, not _tonight_."

Jon rolled his eyes, but Am only nodded. "Fine. Now listen carefully, Miranda." Leaning past Larry over the table, she said in an exaggerated, gossipy tone, "You remember Kate Sanders, right?" Miranda, eyes eager, nodded. "Well you remember how she dropped out of college to marry that Jim Banyon, at least a decade older than her and every bit the aspiring politician, complete with _roving_ eye."

Another nod, this one accompanied by Miranda saying, "Yeah, and then three years ago, she filed for divorce, which was _finally _granted just over a year ago."

Am was supposed to have said that, but she just shrugged and continued, "Well, you'll never guess whom she's just gotten engaged to."

"Who?" Another question Miranda had asked four times that night.

"An _avocado farmer_ by the name of Joe Hunter, if you can believe it! Imagine Kate Sanders living on an _avocado farm_. And, to top it off, she's even been studying avocados, despite the fact that—" Miranda added her voice to Am's, "_—she's allergic to avocados!_"

Miranda was the only one to laugh at this punchline, although there were a few scattered grins at Am's dramatic recital. Lizzie and Gordo, as they had each time they'd heard the story, merely shared a glance.

"So," Lizzie whispered, leaning close to her husband, "what does that make it now? Four down, two to go?"

Gordo nodded. "So it seems."

"Only Veruca and Larry and Am are left. Everything else has turned out just as we guessed from the bubble universe." She nibbled her lip, then said, "Do you think we should help them along?"

Gordo's eyes widened comically. "Absolutely not! Everything else has turned out just as it should without any interference from us. I think Larry and Am will get it together when they're ready. As for Veruca, how on earth do you propose to help her? Put out a personal ad for men with grey in their beards?"

Lizzie snorted. "Even if I found someone who _wasn't _ancient or psycho—or both—she'd never agree to meet him. To hear her talk, all men are completely and utterly useless." She shook her head, shot a swift glance across the table to where Veruca Albano sat. "I hate to see it, Gordo, but she's becoming more and more like Aurelia every day."

"I'm sorry, sweetheart." Gordo's eyes were dark with understanding. He knew very well how close Veruca and she had become in college, when Gordo had been across the country at Columbia University in New York City. Although they'd made the decision together—Gordo would pursue his dream in the best school for him to do so, while Lizzie attended UCLA to save money for medical school—and although they'd stayed as close as the phone and email and the United States Postal Service allowed, there were times when they'd both needed a friend who lived a little closer. Am had been that friend for Gordo, Veruca that friend for Lizzie.

"It's all right," Lizzie smiled. "We'll figure something out. In the meantime, though, the result of one of your many uses—" she winked, slid a hand over her belly, "—is employing my bladder as a pillow. I'll be back." Dropping a kiss on his lips, she stood and hurried for the bathroom.

It really was amazing, she reflected a few minutes later as she washed her hands, how closely the bubble universe correlated to their own. Again and again over the years, she and Gordo had exchanged smiles and even laughter as bits of the fairy tales they'd lived came true.

First had come Ethan and Maggie's marriage only a year after they'd graduated high school. Maggie had been halfway through nursing school, Ethan already working his way up to head DJ at Hillridge's favorite radio station. Since then, the couple had added six-year-old Celia Margaret and four-year-old Tara Katherine to their family. Gordo was firmly convinced their next child would be yet another girl—only fitting, he said, for the guy all the girls had wanted in middle school.

After Ethan and Maggie's happy ending had come Jon and Miranda's. They'd chosen to attend Northwestern Illinois University together, Jon in physics and Miranda in music, and gotten married the summer between their junior and senior years. Jon had gone on to get a Ph.D. in particle physics—which he'd just started putting to good use at Fermi National Accelerator Laboratory, where he attempted to find proof of, among other things, alternate universes. Miranda had also earned a doctorate—in music—and now taught vocal performance and diction at Wheaton College. And as if all this wasn't enough, Jon and Miranda also had four-year-old Nikolas Jonathan and one-year-old Lillian Elizabeth to keep them busy.

_And next came us_, Lizzie thought, smiling at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Although they'd attended different schools for their undergraduate degrees, Lizzie had chosen to move to New York City for med school...but not before Gordo and she had gotten married the summer after college graduation. Since then, Gordo had worked on several film projects—some even of his own devising—while Lizzie toiled her long, expensive way through med school. She was in the final year of her residency now, the perfect time in both their opinions to finally start a family. _Even if it _does_ mean looking like a house and not being able to drink margaritas._

Her reflection's smile softened before drifting into a frown. That was really the last of the romantic connections so far—unless one counted Kate, whose life had played out almost exactly like Arevhat's fairy tale. Only Am, Larry, Veruca, and Bethel remained.

But then, Bethel's fairy tale counterpart hadn't appeared even the littlest bit romantic. The Black Snake had been wise and kind—traits which Bethel Washington had in abundance—but Lizzie and Gordo hadn't known anything about the snake-woman's _life_. Lizzie wasn't entirely sure what this meant, but she absolutely refused to believe that Bethel was fated to live alone—although so far, through gaining a bachelor's degree at Biola University, a master's degree in library science at Texas Women's University, and a position as a children's librarian at the San Antonio Public Library, Bethel had done just that. Hmm. Lizzie met her own pensive eyes in the mirror. Maybe she should put out a personal ad for _Bethel_...

At any rate, Bethel had certainly matched her fairy tale—what little there was of it. So, that left only Am, Larry, and Veruca.

Am had attended Columbia University with Gordo but moved to LA three years ago, where she'd been working on some small-grossing but critically acclaimed films. Larry had earned a Ph.D. in chemistry at Stanford University and now worked with nanotechnology at Sandia National Laboratories in Albuquerque, New Mexico. He'd also just recently published a science fiction novel—a little hardcore for Lizzie's taste, but interesting. And yet, for all their success—and apparently still-strong friendship—they'd shown no inclination toward becoming anything more to one another.

As for Veruca, she'd just finished her doctorate in international economics at UCLA and had several interviews with federal and international institutions lined up. Yet over the years she'd become more and more cynical and sharp-tongued and—Lizzie suspected—with no King Grizzlebeard in sight, would only get worse in the years to come.

Her mirrored frown deepened. As much as she wanted to help her friends, she knew Gordo was right: the bubble universe truths had to show themselves on their own schedules, not hers. Determinedly smoothing the furrow from her brow, she nodded, flashed a smile, and left to return to the table.

She was just nearing the main entrance to the restaurant when a voice rose over the hectic hum of conversation and flamenco music, "Not even one table, Marcus?" The voice, deep and aggrieved, was remarkably familiar, but for the life of her, Lizzie could not connect it with a face or even a name. Her steps slowed.

"Not one," Marcus, the restaurant's host, replied, the sad shake of his head audible in the words. "It's the high school reunion. A lot of the guests are here instead of at their party."

"Can't say as I blame them," the other man said dryly. "But I was looking forward to treating myself with a plate of huevos rancheros. I sold a sculpture today and decided I deserved a little celebration."

By now Lizzie was close enough to see the owner of that familiar voice—tall, broad-shouldered, longish pale blond hair, a lazy smile crinkling the edges of his eyes. And then those eyes met hers, keen, dark, a world deep, and recognition shot through her.

"I'm sorry," she interrupted Marcus, who was estimating when a table might be available, "I couldn't help but overhear." Flourishing her most stunning smile, she continued, "I'm one of those high school reunion people who're keeping you from a table, and I just thought I'd ask if you'd be willing to join us. That way you can have your huevos rancheros—was that it?" Without waiting for his nod, "We certainly won't mind adding another person to our group, and there's ten of us so you're bound to find someone you'd like to talk to. And if you're interested, you can even share our margaritas. Heaven knows I can't have any," she gestured at her tummy, "so there's more than enough to go around."

For a long moment the man and Marcus just stared at her. Then, with sprawling ease, the man's smile slid into a grin. "You know," he said, intrigue flickering deep in his eyes, "I think I'll take you up on that."

"Great!" _Probably a little too much enthusiasm there, Liz._ With a self-conscious shrug, she clarified, "That is, it's the least we can do, since we're taking up all the room." Shoving a hand at the man, "I'm Lizzie Gordon, by the way—Lizzie."

"Nice to meet you," he nodded, grasping her hand in a firm shake. "Marion Grazik, but I go by Grey." He grimaced, "For obvious reasons."

"Grey it is, then." Turning to Marcus, "It's all right that he shares our table?"

The host grinned. "Certainly. I'll put your order for huevos rancheros into the kitchen, Grey."

Grey thanked him, then swept a hand into the restaurant. His left hand. His ring-free left hand. _Perfect! _"Lead on, Lizzie."

Right.

On the brief walk back to the table, Lizzie managed to extract a brief bio from Grey—ostensibly so she could seat him beside people he'd enjoy speaking with. In reality, of course, she already knew _exactly_ where he'd be sitting. And it was to that spot she directed him as soon as they reached her friends.

"Hey, everybody," she called from the end of the table, "this is Grey. He's hungry, he wants huevos rancheros, and there aren't any more tables open in the restaurant. So, I invited him to join us." A jumble of greetings met this announcement, followed almost immediately by several confused, overlapping introductions. But Grey seemed to actually understand most of them and settled to his seat between Lizzie and Veruca looking entirely at ease.

Fortunate, since as soon as Lizzie sat down, Gordo demanded her attention.

"What have you done?" he mumbled, frowning.

"Nothing, Gordo," she replied. "I didn't do anything, I swear. I mean, not aside from inviting Grey to eat with us."

"I thought we weren't going to interfere." His frown was more concerned than cautious now.

"I didn't intend to," she whispered back, fingers brushing the top of his hand, "but I walked out of the bathroom and there he was, just standing there talking with the host. It was too perfect. You have to admit he's the image of King Grizzlebeard. I figured why not take a chance? Nothing might come of it, but then again, it's just as possible he's perfect for her."

Gordo glanced across the table to where Veruca and Grey were already deep in conversation—Grey wearing his lazy grin, Veruca her fiercest glower. "They're certainly showing the classic Loyde and Aurelia signs," he conceded.

Lizzie returned her gaze to her husband and winked. "No doubt she's thinking he's a screwball artist or something—he's a sculptor with a gallery here in Hillridge. What she doesn't know is that long before he decided to pursue sculpting, he was a very successful civil lawyer in Seattle. They should be having some interesting conversations, if nothing else."

Gordo chuffed, a smirk curling the edge of his mouth. "Interesting battles, you mean."

"Same difference," she shrugged. "And I promise, this is the only interference I'll indulge in."

"Really?" This time, Gordo looked at Am and Larry, talking animatedly about turning Larry's novel into a screenplay. Lizzie felt not even the slightest temptation to meddle in that couple's affairs. They were much too stubborn to listen to what she had to say and, judging by their intent expressions and the occasional lingering glance, not so far away from discovering romance as she'd initially thought.

Still, no reason not to get the most out of this situation. Lowering her eyes just enough to watch her husband through her lashes, she answered a meek, "Really."

Gordo's eyes immediately narrowed. "Really?" he asked again, wary.

"Really."

The narrowed eyes remained for an endless minute, then slowly, slowly Gordo began to relax. Just as he nodded and reached for a tortilla chip, Lizzie let loose a wicked grin and cleared her throat.

"So long as you let me have a sip of your margarita."

**####  
end of epilogue  
end of story**

Chapter Notes:  
I am not affiliated—and do not own—any of the institutions, universities, or degree programs mentioned in this chapter...even if it was fun researching all the characters' futures. :)

Story Notes:  
I'd initially started this as a break from the novel I was writing. And while I'd had every intention of finishing _Between Stars_, I had absolutely no idea I'd do so 20 months, 24 chapters, 192 pages, 593 kb, and over 90,000 words later. This has become a novel, itself...and it's been both a ball and an immense learning experience to write.

In regard to more LM fanfic...I have an idea or two percolating, but before I throw myself into another monster of a fanfiction, I'm going to turn my hand to a novel. I hope that once I've completed that, I'll be able to come back and write another story here. In that case, I hope all of you are still around to once again lend your time and thoughts and support.

In the meantime, **thank you** to everyone who's taken the time to read this as I've posted it for the past year! Especially **thank you** to everyone who's dropped me even a word or two of feedback—I don't know that I could've finished this without you!


End file.
